


What John Expects When He's Expecting

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mpreg, Omega John, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 35,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4273341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Omegaverse) John and Sherlock still haven't talked about /that/ night, but perhaps they will have to when John discovers that against all odds he has become pregnant by a man he's certain doesn't want him and wants the child even less. After all, though he might be an alpha, Sherlock has always regarded breeding and mating practices as ridicuously primitive. And he considers himself bonded to his work. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Mpreg. Don't like, don't read. I've told the story from both perspectives. Hope you enjoy it!

**_Sherlock_ **

John has been irritable all day. He can barely eat. He’s raced to the bathroom three times by noon alone. His face seems just a bit flushed and he’s gained a little weight. Not much. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed it at all, but after all, this is Sherlock Holmes. His scent’s changed a bit too, Sherlock notes, to a very, very specific sort of scent omegas only have under a very specific medical condition. Bit not good, Sherlock realizes. _Does John know? Should he tell him?_ If he tells him, Sherlock reasons, they will surely have to finally talk about _that_ night, which they have both been conveniently pretending never happened. But if he doesn’t tell him, and John finds out that he knew, that could also be the source of significant strain in the relationship. Sherlock decides to just bite the bullet.

“John, you’re pregnant.”

The statement hangs in the air a moment and Sherlock watches as his blogger swallows once, and a look of understanding comes upon his face, a sudden intake of breath follows and then he grips the table tightly. Panic. Adrenaline. His knuckles are turning white. _Should I comfort him?_ A minute passes. Then thirty seconds more. Sherlock just stares at him. Waiting. Observing.

“You’re sure?” John asks quietly.

“Nearly positive. Almost negligible margin of error. You should perform a test just to be sure.” Sherlock turns back to typing on his laptop to give John some privacy in digesting this newest development.

Even without looking at him Sherlock can tell that John’s breathing hard, his hands are on his face, he’s sweating just a bit. _Do I go to him? No. Not yet. He doesn’t want you._ Then just like that John gets up and goes up the stairs _. Should I follow? Should I say anything more? No. He needs to be alone. Doesn’t want you. Best leave him be. It is after all, your fault._

Sherlock searches for a statistic on the Internet and shakes his head. Only 7% of unbonded couples can successfully conceive during a heat. What were the odds?

***

_**John** _

John doesn’t know why he’s been feeling like shit all day. Maybe it’s the fact that despite the fact that it’s been weeks since that night, the scent and sight of Sherlock still make him feel that aching want. Maybe he’s caught something from the clinic at work. _Or maybe…? No. That can’t happen. This is hard enough as it is._

In the end, it’s Sherlock that deduces it. He’s sitting in his usual chair in the living room, a perfect picture of stoic elegance, when he announces rather coolly, “John, you’re pregnant.”

John hears it the first time and ignores it; after all, Sherlock makes announcements all the time. Sometimes to no one in particular. Then it replays in his head. He swallows. _No. No. No. No._ He looks downwards as he feels a sudden surge of hatred that his body would betray him like this. _This is humiliating._ He grips the table as the idea hits him with the speed and fervor of a moving train. He's pregnant, he realizes, his worst nightmare since first presenting as an omega has come roaring to life. And the alpha responsible isn't just someone he can blow off. It isn't someone he just met by accident in the chaos of a heat. It's Sherlock. John tries very hard not to panic. But it's just too hard. He closes his eyes and gasps a few times, every harsh intake of breath representing each of his fears. _This will end our friendship for sure. Am I going to keep it?_ _Do I want it? Does Sherlock want it? Of course he doesn't want it. He's Sherlock._

"You're sure?" John asks in a whisper.

Sherlock makes a curt scientific reply John doesn't really hear through the throes of his hysteria. He needs to go somewhere else. He needs to think. So he gets up to go upstairs, turning around one last time to look at Sherlock, wondering if he'll come up with him. _Why would he? Just because he put a baby in you doesn't mean the work still doesn't come first. He warned you._ John looks at him. He's typing something. He probably isn't thinking about this. About them. And maybe he never will.

 

 


	2. The Test: Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tests positive and comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post John's POV after this.

**_Sherlock_ **

John doesn't come back downstairs until midnight. In the meantime Sherlock reads everything the internet has to offer on omega pregnancies. Unbonded pregnancies in particular. He even reads a bit about the children born from such unions. He closes his eyes and traipses around his mind palace looking for a place to put this information, when he realizes his subconscious has already led him to a room he has never been in before, found in the wing he has devoted to his flatmate. He’s almost disappointed in himself when he realizes it’s furnished in his mind’s eye exactly like his own boyhood nursery. Complete with the blue curtains on the windows and the baby mobile with dangling stuffed bees above a small white, wooden crib. How cloyingly sentimental.

He then texts his brother, who is bound to find out anyway and be infinitely more annoying about it if Sherlock doesn't break it first.

_I seem to have impregnated John. -SH_

He hypothesizes several possible states of mind John may be having about this. Rage. Denial. Sadness. Disappointment. Happiness? Unlikely. Then he puts some thought to his own.

John, as of right this instant, is carrying his child. That of course is the very definition of pregnancy but the concept is so shocking and alien to Sherlock, who is the kind of person that is rarely ever shocked by anything. Because he's never had an omega in heat before John. The probability of conceiving was so low. And yet...? Does it mean something? Does some part of him wish that John "not gay" Watson will keep his baby? If only to see what might happen?

 

_What do you expect he shall do? -MH_

_There are several distinct possibilities. -SH_

_But you want the child. -MH_

_Preposterous. If he desires it I shall not obstruct him. -SH_

_How was it done? -MH_

_He was in heat. I did not have sufficient control. I do not think I shall divulge any further details. -SH_

_Thank goodness. -MH_

_So you have nothing useful to say then I gather, besides to mock me? -SH_

_I’ll begin saying useful things to you when you begin to listen to them, brother mine. -MH_

_Never then. -SH_

_So it seems. -MH_

 

After this exchange, during which he decides he hates Mycroft more than ever, he buries himself once more in every study ever done on unbonded pregnancies. _To suggest that he had actually gotten what he wanted...ridiculous..._ He fumes quietly. He’s so wrapped up in this study that he barely notices that John has returned until he has already slipped past him to the bathroom. Significantly more collected than earlier. Yet still nervous. Posture indicates nervousness, but there’s a firmness in his step. A confidence. He’s made a decision. _Already? That was fast._ But John has always had a strong moral principle, and nerves of steel. _Of course he already knows what he’s going to do. But what?_

John is in the bathroom the exact amount of time it would take to perform a pregnancy test, so Sherlock knows that he has. He’s not prepared however, for John promptly coming out of the bathroom, and handing the test to Sherlock. It’s positive. _Clearly my turn to speak._

“Have you arrived at a conclusion amenable both to your lifestyle, moral standards and future goals?” Sherlock says in an even tone. _Don’t jump at him. Don’t scare him. Calm._

“Yes.”

 _Okay. Obvious._ “And what decision might that be?” Sherlock clears his throat before he asks, the evenness in his voice slipping a bit in anticipation.

John doesn’t look at him. _Guilt? He’s not keeping it and he thinks it might anger me?_

Instead John walks the length of the room, and by the time he finally speaks Sherlock is breathlessly impatient, “I’ve decided…”

“Yes?” Sherlock says rather testily.

“I want to have it, Sherlock,” he says, then launches into what Sherlock believes is a rehearsed speech, “I...I thought about it. A lot. And I...I didn’t want this. But things like this...they don’t happen all that often. I’m not getting any younger and if I wanted...if I ever wanted this these are probably the last years that I even could. And I do. I don’t expect you to be a part of this. I mean you can do as little or as much as you feel you can. I don’t even expect you to let me stay with you after I...well after things begin to change.”

 _Fascinating. John wants the child. John wants the child?_  John has always implied that he at least moderately dislikes his secondary gender and by his exclusive dating of beta women has clearly demonstrated an intent to not be pregnant. In fact he has remarked on three separate occasions that becoming pregnant would be a “bloody nightmare”. That’s a fast turn around. Are his natural instincts to protect the pup that strong that he would reject his better judgement? They must be. It surely can’t be due to any affections he feels towards the fact that the child is half Sherlock’s.

“I see no reason for you to leave at present, in any case finding solo accommodation at such short notice and with your income would be difficult. And an unbonded pregnant omega can hardly stay anywhere else.”

“You’re not my alpha, Sherlock. I don’t want you to think that I need you to protect me or--”

“I am perfectly aware, John.”

Sherlock stares at him for a few seconds after that. The wild thought pops into his mind of what the baby might look like. A combination of him and John. What a thought. Would it be all dark and harshly angled like himself or soft and golden like John? Or a combination? Also an interesting notion.

“I’ll just head up to bed then.” John coughs. _Still nervous._

“Yes.” Sherlock says quickly, then picks up the positive test and takes it with him to the bedroom.

He opens his sock drawer and looks under the layers of clothes until he sees it. It only makes sense that he should put the test here as well. He’s unsure as to the etiquette involved. It would seem disinterested if he were to hand it back to John immediately. If he kept it in a place of honor it would imply some sort of prize. Like he had claimed John in a way that he had not. Best that he keep it here. It is here of course that he still has John’s underwear from that night. Handing it back would no doubt spur a conversation. It’s almost ironic seeing the two things side by side. A representation of cause and effect. Eerie.


	3. The Test: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV as he shows Sherlock the positive test reading.

_**John** _

As soon as John is safely upstairs and out of Sherlock’s earshot, or as he sometimes likes to call it his ‘deduction radius’, he completely breaks down. It starts with the pacing, which is an old habit that only comes out under extreme pressure—in the military he was conditioned to staying very, very still. In his mind he says things that he believes will calm him down, but it only amplifies his sense of what can only be called oh-god-why-fuck-what-will-I-do-Sherlock-oh-god-help-oh-god. But then suddenly it clicks. If he’s pregnant now it means he’s probably been pregnant for a while. He must have conceived that night and he’s been walking around pregnant ever since and he’s been completely fine. The sky has not fallen. He has not been struck by lightning. It is okay. Nothing earth-shattering has occurred. He had sex. He got pregnant. _Fine. Okay, John. Easy now. This is just natural. Could happen to anyone._

He sits on the bed now and breathes deeply. _For goodness sakes John you were in war. You were shot._ He rubs his eyes and clears his thoughts. _Okay. Let’s take this a step at a time_. So he was pregnant with his best friend’s kid. Said best friend and him weren’t actually bonded or in any sort of romantic relationship whatsoever. In fact it had been noticeably awkward between them since _that_ night. And this would probably just up the ante of the awkward another few notches over the next few months. _Wait. Wait. Over the next few months. John, you haven’t already assumed you’re keeping it?_

John  gulps. That is a major assumption. Not one he can take lightly. He touches his stomach gently and can’t feel anything there. It’s a miracle that Sherlock guessed that he is, though in retrospect his symptoms can hardly point to anything else. Sherlock must have put it all together so quickly. _Brilliant_. Sherlock is brilliant. Images from _that_ night come flooding back suddenly and John feels his heart sink. He is brilliant. John imagines his smile, that special smile Sherlock only seems to have for him. He wonders if that smile will be mirrored on the face of their child. _Their child_. The thought sends his heart racing. But not in a bad way. It thrills him, John realizes. And the fact that it thrills him scares him.

The odds were against this, he knows. He isn’t sure of the specifics but unbonded couples rarely ever have children together. Yet against all odds he has conceived Sherlock’s child. John thinks it through rationally for a second; he isn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of aborting the baby unless he feels quite strongly that he doesn’t want it. And given the way his mind races at the idea of his brilliant curly-haired half-genius child, he clearly isn’t against the idea. It’s not the child he’s afraid of, John realizes, it never has been. It’s the idea of facing Sherlock that’s sending shocks to his system.

So why is he so scared of facing Sherlock? _You know why, John._ He lies back on the bed and stares at the patterns on the ceiling. He does know why. It’s been obvious since Irene Adler strode in naked and practically sat on the alpha’s lap. It’s been obvious since he stared in Sherlock’s eyes that night at the pool. They aren’t just friends. They aren’t exactly a couple either, as she said. But something in between. And whatever that is, he isn’t sure how his having their baby will affect the situation. _Is that it John? Are you afraid of the unknown?_

He thinks in circles after this. Dreaming up worst case scenarios. Wondering what a better, smarter man might have done in his position. Wondering if he’s making this simpler than it is. Wondering if he’s making this more complicated than it is. He wonders. And wonders. And paces. And sits. And lies down. And gets up. Sits. Gets up. Paces. Sits. Lies back. Until finally he snaps.

Fuck it. Fuck logic. Fuck it all. He wants this. Or at the very least he’s sure that he doesn’t not want it. He suddenly feels exhausted, both mentally and physically—though it’s only 10 pm. It had been just a minute or two past 7 when Sherlock had told him. It’s important, somehow, that he remembers. After all, just like that gunshot, just like that day when he met Sherlock at St. Bart’s, this revelation will ultimately change his life forever.

He wakes up almost exactly two hours later with a sense of conviction he didn’t know that he had. He has to tell Sherlock. He owes him that much at least. And he can’t be afraid of what Sherlock might say. John fishes through all his things for a pregnancy test. It’s a proper miracle that he even has one, given the fact that he’s only ever had sex with betas for the past several years, except of course _that_ night, and his normal ignorance towards all things most omegas his own age stock up on. Fertility boosters. Monthly charts that show when they’re most likely to get pregnant. His mum’s book _101 Ways to Give Your Alpha a Healthy Baby._

As he slips past Sherlock downstairs he notes sadly that the man doesn’t even look up to see him pass on the way to the bathroom. Sherlock seems frustrated actually, from his facial expression, and John feels even more dejected as he can probably guess the cause. _Stop it John._ It doesn’t matter. It’s not as if he expected Sherlock to declare his love for him or buy him a bouquet of roses or say he would make him his mate and bond with him and take care of their child forever. He supposes he’s lucky that Sherlock isn’t too upset or even disgusted about the whole affair. In the past few hours he hasn’t set the flat on fire or run screaming. That, he thinks, is something.

John locks the door to the bathroom and pisses on the damn stick. _See, not so hard._ And sure enough it blinks positive. He wipes it off with toilet paper and just looks at it a second. Then he summons all of his courage and opens the door, now or never, any longer and Sherlock will know he’s dithering. Sherlock knows exactly how long it takes to take a pregnancy test. And if Sherlock must deduce him John is going to make sure he deduces that John is sure about this.

He walks over to Sherlock, who is now quite serenely surfing the web, which is strange as John has rarely ever seen him so calm, and wonders how to start this. Before he can ponder any longer however Sherlock grabs the stick out of his hand and inspects it.

“Have you arrived at a conclusion amenable both to your lifestyle, moral standards and future goals?” Sherlock says so calmly that John is shocked that he can be so unmoved—it is after all his child as well that they’re talking about.

“Yes.” He replies.

“And what decision might that be?” Sherlock snaps, a fleeting shift from the enforced calm he once again resumes. Perhaps, John thinks, this is scaring him.

John’s practiced this upstairs three or four times. Yet when he says it down here it’s the worst of all the attempts. He stops. He trails off. But after he’s done explaining to Sherlock why he wants to keep his baby, he hopes madly that maybe it will happen now. Maybe Sherlock will defy all expectation and tell him that night meant something to him too, and that this child means something to him too. But the moment passes.

Sherlock makes a comment that there’s no reason for John to leave. Not because Sherlock wants him there. But because it’s simply unfeasible. He’s an omega. And he’s pregnant. And unbonded. He’s simply not cut out to make it on his own anymore. Which is insulting to John like it probably isn’t to any other omega ever born. It’s in his genes, he knows, to want to be protected. And the omega side of him feels almost contented that Sherlock would point out the fact that he would be endangered by himself in the wide world. But the part of him that’s him, unbounded by hormones and how his genes tell him to feel, hates it. It’s always been Sherlock that’s treated him different. As if he wasn’t just someone to be mated and bred— _oh isn’t that funny now_. Does Sherlock think John wants him to play his alpha?

“You’re not my alpha, Sherlock. I don’t want you to think that I need you to protect me or—“

“I’m perfectly aware, John.” The other man says a bit more harshly than is strictly necessary.

John needs to get out of here. He’s not sure he can withstand the pressure any longer. Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock’s scent. The hormones that tell him how desperately he still wants the bondbite of the one that got him with child.

“I’ll just head up to bed then.” John says.

“Yes.” Sherlock replies curtly.

After Sherlock leaves John does something he’s never felt the urge to do. He sits in Sherlock’s chair and for a second he lets himself breathe in that scent. _He’s not your alpha you said. Ha. Then why the hell are you sitting in his chair?_ John gets up and looks at the chair again, this time a vision of a little curly haired child with wide blue eyes comes to him. Smaller than its detective father but with the same brightness sparkling its pupils. _Brilliant._ John touches his stomach lightly. And for the first time that day he smiles.


	4. The NSY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock deal with morning sickness, how to tell people, and suddenly--to John's shock and amazement--the flat is clean.

**_Sherlock_ **

_Am I to be an uncle? -MH_

_You are. Now shut up. -SH_

The flat is in no fit state for a pregnant omega. Sherlock knows. And because he knows, he does something he hasn't done since being threatened with punishment by his mother around twenty five years ago. He cleans up. He begins with the refrigerator. Things that are not food are sadly the first to go. Followed by things that he notices contribute to John's morning sickness. Though of course there are few things that don't.

It began in full force the second morning after the talk. A full five weeks and two days since that night. He had just about gotten used to the idea of their lives being the same except for the fact that John happened to be pregnant and would eventually look it, when he saw his flatmate turn and dart for the bathroom the minute before he sat down for breakfast. He debated with himself whether he should follow. If John would consider it coddling. But then he decided that if they had simply been friends and John was this sick he would have shared his expertise. John being pregnant would not make him any more or less of a friend than he already was.

So Sherlock went to the bathroom and laid a cautious hand on John's shoulder as he retched. And when the touch wasn't rejected he even ran his hand up and down his back the way he had read on the website. He told him in what was his practiced 'soothing' voice exactly how to breathe to reduce queasiness. And the second that it worked he distanced himself from John and darted back to the kitchen. John probably didn't like being seen like this. So he wouldn't linger.

Now of course Sherlock does this every day. Although through very deliberate stealth modifications to their diet and determining exactly what foods exacerbate the condition Sherlock has limited the sensation as far as possible, when John does inevitably leave to throw up Sherlock follows. It doesn't mean he's John's alpha. John made it very clear that he wasn't. Sherlock isn't quite sure what it means.

After the refrigerator he fervently sanitizes all kitchen surfaces and then realizes that there's no way his labwork/experiment regimen and this cleaning regimen can exist side by side. He must move the experiments to John's room and John can simply sleep in his bed with him. It would be most economical. Not to mention many studies show that there is a benefit to an omega's sleep pattern if he does sleep with the alpha that bred him. And therefore a benefit to the child. Two birds. One stone. He doesn't really see a problem.

John surely will. Though this isn't really their first problem when it comes to adjustments for the baby. The first has to do with the cases. Mainly and firstly what to do about NSY.

Sherlock's alpha instincts tell him he should absolutely forbid John from taking cases for the duration of this whole affair. Start to finish. He doesn't think John would agree. Besides, he needs John. Secondly there's the matter of telling people. John's always been staunch about not being gay. He's always been staunch about the fact that an omega and alpha can live together without anything happening. And this is surely like a slap in the face to that particular public mentality. Sherlock is aware.

"You won't tell them unless it's necessary," Sherlock suggests before they go to meet Lestrade for the first time since finding out.

"Suppose I won't," John replies.

There's no more discussion after that. They aren't men of words really. They're men of action. Though doing first and talking later are the reason for the baby growing in John, Sherlock notes, so perhaps its not the most logical way to go about things. No matter.

The first few times go fine. Then of course Greg asks if John will go out with him that night to the pub. Watch football. Have a pint. Nevermind that the scent of alcohol itself upsets him, Sherlock knows. He can't possibly drink it. But John has never said no to these sort of invitations in the past. He needs an out. And Greg is awfully persistent. Must be lonely. Wife sleeping with the PE teacher and all. Divorce incumbent, he deduces idly. He considers giving John an out himself, when Donovan pieces together the puzzle.

"He can't drink." She says.

"What?" The detective inspector turns, "Have you given it up mate?"

Sherlock has never ever hated Sally more than this moment. The moment when he knows what she's going to do to John.

"No," she chuckles snidely, "He can't drink because he's pregnant. Freak knocked him up."

At this John turns beet red and his fingers briefly form into a fist. Anderson is staring from Sherlock to John in disbelief. And even Lestrade looks slightly shocked.

"Congratulations." Lestrade says finally.

"Thanks." John says weakly.

"Can't believe you kept it from us though. All this time pretending to be platonic when you've been his alpha this whole time."

"We did not keep anything from you." Sherlock retorts, his patience growing thin.

"Course you did. He's only bloody having your baby." Anderson turns to Sally, "Didn't I tell you, there's not many alphas that can resist a lush omega in their beds. Even it appears, Sherlock Holmes."

"I am not his alpha." Sherlock snaps fiercely, "If you had any sense at all you would have seen his neck. No bond bite. But since you lack both common sense and a rudimentary understanding of biology I should have prepared myself for disappointment. John, I believe our work has concluded for the day."

Sherlock directs John to the exits and even opens the door for him.

"Lestrade will make them apologize. Until then we can take private cases." Sherlock says, his hand brushing against John's stomach lightly, only partially on purpose, "In addition. Given the state of the flat, I've decided we should move my lab equipment to your room and you can sleep in my bedroom with me--the health benefits are considerable, not to mention easier access to the bathroom. What do you think?"

John acquiesces amazingly, surprisingly, shockingly quickly, "I think that's for the best."

***

_**John** _

John really should have seen this coming. After all, he knows that most people consider Sherlock a difficult person to get on with. So it’s not really that surprising that carrying Sherlock’s child is an uncomfortable experience. _But does it have to be this uncomfortable?_

The first time it happens in the morning he feels as if all of his insides are coming up. He’s dying. It’s 8:30 in the morning and he’s dying and he hasn’t even had breakfast yet. On top of it all instead of having his regular combination of jam on toast, he’s sitting in the bathroom next to the toilet waiting for Sherlock’s baby to make him throw up again. When it finally happens and he does do it again he’s startled to feel a sudden pressure on his shoulder.

Sherlock is here. With him. Watching him do this horrible, disgusting thing. And Sherlock is touching him. He has half a mind to throw him out but that light touch made him feel a whole lot better and he’s not in a position to be picky if he ever wants to have his jam on toast. But he feels bad. So he turns to Sherlock and is about to say something when the feeling overcomes him again.

“Shut up, John.” Sherlock says, “Trying to talk will only make it worse.”

Sherlock’s voice. Sherlock is talking to him while he watches him do this horrible, disgusting thing. But that voice. He feels nicer just hearing it. And as Sherlock tells him how to breathe he feels even nicer until—

He hears Sherlock sigh, as if frustrated that his methods don’t work, and then he begins running his hand up and down John’s back. _Why? Why would he do that?_ John really hadn’t expected that after _that_ night that _this_ would be the next time Sherlock so intimately touched him. But it’s working. He can breathe calmly now and his head is clear and his insides are calm and it’s all because of the fact that his alpha is here with him. _Wait? ‘His’ alpha. No. Absolutely not._

And John is soon reminded of how absolutely not that is. At the first sign that John is on his way to recovery Sherlock is gone. Perhaps he only came in to help because he couldn’t stand the sound of it from the living room? John doesn’t know. John just wants to have some jam and toast.

But it happens again. It actually happens every day. And after a while John does start to care why Sherlock is doing this for him. When it suddenly becomes very clear. It’s the fridge that tells him. The fridge has been very important in their relationship thus far. The source of several arguments. And it’s much the same with this. There’s only food in there now, John notices, and that’s really, really strange.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John asks when he sees him throw out some rat entrails, which is something John has asked him to do a quarter of a million times.

“I won’t have improper nutrition affecting the fetus, John. Problems occurring during gestation can have lifelong repercussions.” Sherlock responds cleanly.

 _Well then_. Apparently Sherlock’s intent to do all things correctly and properly extend to this. And the precision to which he’s doing what he’s doing: essentially a detox of all of 221B suggest a long term commitment. _Good deduction John, Sherlock would be proud._ In any case it’s a relief to have this done without argument.

There is however argument about who gets to know and when. John is a bit upset that Sherlock already told his interfering brother, but soon settles down when he agrees that he would have found out anyway. Sherlock is a bit irked that John wants to tell Mrs. Hudson, who will undoubtedly coo and fuss over them incessantly, but John does it anyway, and in the end it doesn’t seem like Sherlock minds.

Sherlock is out of that flat when he tells her, and her eyes immediately grow wide.

“Oh John that’s wonderful, bonded with a baby on the way.” She says kindly, “Whatever you need dear, I can help. It’s a trying time, and with the alpha being that one it’ll be kicking you soon enough.”

“We’re not bonded Mrs. Hudson,” John says, and he sees her expression briefly sink.

“I meant what I said,” she squeezes his arm, “If you ever need anything.”

The next problem is obviously the cases. John wants to go. Sherlock wants him to go. But Sherlock also wants him to not go. And eventually the Sherlock vs. Sherlock argument is overruled by John, who is most definitely going.

“You won’t tell them unless it’s necessary,” Sherlock tells him as they leave, not unkindly.

“I suppose I won’t,” John agrees.

The first few times are alright. Then Greg asks him to go out for a pint and it all goes downhill. It’s Sally that says it first and he’s possibly never been more embarrassed in his life than when he hears the allegation--and he’s sure everyone will see it like this--that Sherlock “knocked him up”. _Oh god._ Not to mention that she calls him a freak. Which now bothers him on a personal _and_ hormonal level as no one calls his child a half-freak.

He supposes that he’s glad that Sherlock vehemently disqualifies Anderson’s assertion that they’re bonded. But the omega part of him is also just the tiniest bit upset that Sherlock wouldn’t claim him. _Honestly pull yourself together_. And it’s all rather confused by the fact that after making said assertion Sherlock quite possessively maneuvers him to the exit. And then, rambling angrily, Sherlock briefly touches his stomach, and it’s purposeful, John knows, and _well he’s never done that before_. John likes it, this possessive, angry side of Sherlock, suddenly directing his energies towards him in a way it never has. _Stop it John. You do not like it. You do not need him to do things like this._

And then John is doing that thing again where he’s staring and thinking about Sherlock so much that he’s not actually listening to what he’s saying so when Sherlock looks to him for some sort of response he thinks quickly and says, “I think that’s for the best.”


	5. The Violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reacts badly to Sherlock's changing their sleeping arrangements. Sherlock plays the violin to "aid in the intellectual development of the fetus". But there's so much they're both not saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time the POVs aren't of the same situation but one situation after the other.

**_Sherlock_ **

_Sherlock, they were way out of line. I’ll speak to them. Would you come back? –GL_

_Not interested. –SH_

_There’s been three homicides and a burglary. –GL_

_Still not interested. –SH_

It angers him still the way they talked about John. Like he was some sort of object. Sherlock’s never thought of him that way. He’s never seen him for being just somebody’s mating material. Oh no. John is funny. John is downright hilarious and tough as nails and every single attribute Sherlock prefers in another person. Even then, that night he never speaks of and barely lets himself think of, he didn’t see John as just another omega or anything less than his best friend.

He’s been busy all day reorganizing the flat so that all of John’s stuff is now in his bedroom and all of his lab is now in John’s and he is certainly proud of the effort required and certain that John will approve. After all, he said yes really quickly. Without argument. And Sherlock had prepared himself for significant argument.

When John comes home from work and Sherlock describes in detail what exactly he has done he’s singularly unprepared for John’s rage. _Where the hell did that come from? Could be hormones._

“Sherlock. When. When did I say that was okay?”

“Yesterday, actually.”

“Yesterday…when…Sherlock I can’t sleep with you.”

“Actually given your current state you’ve proved that you can. Quite compatibly actually,” Sherlock quips before he realizes it’s the wrong thing to have said.

“Not like that Sherlock.” John holds his hands to his temples and sighs.

“I need to continue my experiments. They can’t stay in the kitchen. This solution is economical. Besides, John studies show that it would be beneficial for us to share a bed.” Sherlock throws the argument he had prepared, glad that he didn’t prematurely delete it.  

“Sherlock. I am pregnant. I need some space of my own. I can’t just kip with you because you insist.”

“Oh honestly, you were fine with it yesterday, these are just hormones talking.” Sherlock wishes he didn’t say that the minute it pops out. _Big mistake. Oh no._

“The hormones? The hormones? Sherlock if there’s any reason at all why I’m so uncomfortable all the time it’s because of the fact that this kid has half your genes and is clearly also seeking to annoy me as much as possible.” John snaps.

“Be reasonable, John.” _You just can’t stop can you Sherlock?_

“Reasonable?” John pauses, “Reasonable? You want me to give up my bedroom so that you can finally take toxic chemicals out of the kitchen in order to protect the life of the unborn child that _you_ put in me in the first place? Great. That’s great.”

“It was an accident.” Sherlock says, and at least it’s true. _Really Sherlock? That’s your line?_

“Move the things back,” John says finally.

“I can’t. If we’re not taking cases from Lestrade I still need something to occupy my time.”

“I didn’t ask you not to take cases from Lestrade.”

“Well I didn’t bloody ask you to get pregnant. But here we are.” Sherlock does that thing where he just says the first thing he thinks and as soon as he says it he feels he should really stop letting words come out of his mouth now and forever. _Now you’ve done it Sherlock._

John just looks at him and Sherlock sees a myriad of emotions flooding his eyes. John’s face is suddenly looks so tired, and he sits down on the sofa and he puts his face in his hands, breathing rather deeply and Sherlock just doesn’t know what to do. _He’s not going to cry is he? John doesn’t cry. I should apologize. Apologize, come on. Think of something to say. Think._

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Sherlock finds himself saying, “You sleep in my bed.”

John looks up slightly. _He wasn’t crying_.

“You’re right, John. I-I didn’t think.” Sherlock hates admitting he’s wrong but he sees no other way out after he said what he said, “You’re pregnant. I stole your bedroom. You’ll have mine to yourself.”

John looks relieved. Good. Alright. _My cue to leave. Too much tension in room._ Sherlock goes up to the second floor to begin some experiments, and wonders why he so enjoys putting his foot in his mouth.

***

**_John_ **

_‘I didn’t bloody ask you to get pregnant. But here we are.’_ The line rings in John’s head as he lies in Sherlock’s bedroom alone, and every time it echoes in his mind it’s like he’s hearing it for the first time. This was a mess. It was such a mess. He had been so close right there to crying in front of Sherlock. He never cried. Sherlock was right. The hormones were getting to him and a few moments more if Sherlock hadn’t given in and he would have actually cried. Him. John Watson. The soldier. The fighter. It’s so bloody frustrating.

It’s frustrating too just how much this mattress smells of Sherlock, these sheets, this stupid, god damned pillow even. The drapes. Even the dresser. Sherlock was right, being cocooned in his scent alone is so annoyingly relaxing for John that if Sherlock was sleeping here himself he would be asleep in seconds. But they can’t possibly do that. No. Because John remembers the last night they were both here, in this bed, and he can’t feel like that again…because he’s afraid that if Sherlock and him sleep here together he won’t be able to keep himself from doing something or saying something and when Sherlock rejects him even the sofa won’t be a far enough distance between them.

He can’t lose Sherlock as a friend, even now. He’s decided once he has this baby he wants Sherlock to be a part of its life in some way. Maybe not as its father in any ways but the biological, but he wants the baby to know Sherlock anyway. And if he wants any chance of that happening he had better keep his baser urges and instincts to himself. After all this time. After all these years John finally wants what his mother told him he would eventually want. He wants an alpha to claim him. His mother always told him it was simple enough for omegas to get what they wanted. But even she hadn’t counted on an alpha like Sherlock Holmes.

When he gets up the next morning to throw up right on schedule he sees Sherlock asleep on the sofa, an open encyclopedia resting on his chest, his limbs cramped awkwardly in the small space. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to come like he usually does given yesterday’s tiff, but sure enough, as if nothing happened, Sherlock is right by his side.

 _‘I didn’t bloody ask you to get pregnant. But here we are.’_ John thinks the second night. Then the third. Then the fourth. He tosses and turns and then at 2 am he finally gets up to make himself some hot cocoa to get to sleep. At the sound of his footsteps Sherlock wakes and before John can prepare himself Sherlock’s feeling his glands and then his forehead and lightly touches his stomach.

“Are you alright, John?” Sherlock asks, “Your sleep pattern’s been highly compromised.”

John feels the warmth of Sherlock’s touch linger on his body and he knows that if he was in Sherlock’s arms right now he could possibly fall asleep standing. _Focus John._

“Yeah, I’m not used to sleeping with—“

“You’re just barely starting to show. No one can tell but me.” Sherlock says.

“I just wanted to drink something hot.”

“It’s an odd time. You shouldn’t.” Sherlock continues, “Many statistics say playing music to the fetus can contribute to intellectual development. Not that it doesn’t have a considerable head start already having my genes, but it can’t hurt.”

“You want to play it some violin?”

“If you’d be amenable.”

“Go for it.”

“Go back to your room John,” Sherlock says, “I’ll play from out here.”

John goes back and lies in the bed, still reliving the brush of Sherlock’s fingertips against his face. _‘I didn’t bloody ask you to get pregnant. But here we are.’ ‘I didn’t bloody ask you to get pregnant. But here we are.’ ‘I didn’t bloody ask you to get pregnant. But here we—_

The statement is drowned out in John’s mind as Sherlock begins to play. John can’t recognize it. But it’s beautiful. All smooth and lilting and it feels like Spring and John wonders for a second whether it might be a love song. _Sherlock wouldn’t play you a love song_.

John doesn’t know it, but he’s asleep by the second movement.

John doesn’t know Tchaikovsky, Beethoven and Mozart either. But Sherlock performs them all nightly now, in what John likes to call ‘The Great Concert Series of 221B’. After another week he wonders how exactly he had ever managed to sleep without hearing Sherlock play. He’s pretty much addicted. But then again maybe those were the hormones talking?

On another note one thing he isn’t hearing is complaining from Sherlock. He had expected a great big sulk about being forced to sleep on the sofa but he hasn’t heard Sherlock say a thing. _He was probably put off by your almost crying_. Yet he knows some nights Sherlock can barely get comfortable in that space. He knows that some nights Sherlock sleeps barely two or three hours and it shows on his face. But Sherlock doesn’t say a word about it.

One night as John looks at the picture of his ultrasound, where he can barely make out the baby, he feels the sudden urge to show Sherlock. After all, it was something they made.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing a doctor.” Sherlock says rather indignantly, when John tells him that he went.

“It was the lady at the clinic I work at. I just wanted to see if everything was alright. When we go for real appointments, I can let you know. Not that you’d like to come of course.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course I come.” Sherlock snatches the picture from him, “Fascinating, John. I can already see your eyes and short stature. Chip off the old block, isn’t that the saying?”

“Shut up,” John smiles, “You can see no such thing. You can barely make it out.”

John isn’t looking at the picture anymore though. He’s looking at the way Sherlock’s looking at the picture. He actually looks pleased. _That violin playing. Sleeping on the sofa. The cleaning. Oh. Oh. Sherlock is interested in his child._

“Hopefully it inherits my proclivity for observation, and your shooting skills,” Sherlock cracks a joke to cover up the fact that his eyes are all but brimming with happiness.

As he hands the picture back to John and turns to leave, John catches his wrist.

“You want the best for it, don’t you Sherlock?” John asks softly.

The reply comes late, curiously late for Sherlock, who’s always snapping out answers lightning fast, “Yes.”

“Then you can sleep here.”


	6. The Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts having interesting food cravings. Sherlock is not amused.

_**Sherlock** _

"Sherlock, Sherlock wake up,” John shakes him.

Sherlock grumbles and faces the other way.

“Sherlock, Sherlock. Sherlock!” John says.

“What?” Sherlock says sleepily, “John you are aware that it’s the middle of the night.”

“I’m so hungry, Sherlock.”

“Whatever you’re craving I’m sure it’s in the fridge.”

“I just checked we’re all out of chocolate ice cream.”

“Alright,” Sherlock says rationally, “I shall acquire more of it in the morning.”

So saying he lies back down and closes his eyes, but even so he can feel the omega staring at him. _Oh god why_. He has only been sleeping with him for a week and a half now, and it has all been going well. The worst of the morning sickness has disappeared but its been replaced with truly bizarre food cravings. John of course blames it on the baby. Only a child of Sherlock Holmes could make him want something as amazingly specific as Ben  & Jerry’s Belgian Dark Chocolate Ice Cream.

“No.” Sherlock attempts to be forceful, “We are both rational adults. We are not leaving the flat at 2 o’ clock in the morning to acquire something as frivolous as ice cream.”

“Sherlock I need to have it.”

“You were never this unreasonable before you know.”

“I’ve never been pregnant with your child before too you know.” _Damn it if John couldn’t always use that to one up him._

“All the shops are closed.” Sherlock points out wearily.

“Sherlock, come on.”

“Fine. Fine!” Sherlock gets to his feet, “Since you’re obviously not in fit state to be convinced.”

About thirty minutes later finds them at a hotel at the outskirts of London, the one place posh enough that Sherlock knew they would be able to order the exact flavor John wanted. And as he watches John eat the first spoonful and sigh contentedly he is reminded of just how domestic this has truly become. _He woke you up in the middle of night for ice cream for goodness sakes._

The first night had been awkward of course, what with Sherlock and John both sticking resolutely to their sides of the bed. Yet Sherlock’s attempt to diffuse the tension had for once been quite successful.

“Don’t be so tense John. The most ridiculous thing that could happen has already happened.” Sherlock laughed to himself.

“What do you mean?”

“The last time we were in this bed together I got you with child.” Sherlock said so seriously that John can’t help but start giggling the way he did against the wall after their first case. _That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. And you invaded Afghanistan._

Then Sherlock had started laughing too, and it was suddenly okay. It was the way it should be. John and Sherlock. Laughing at a joke only they would ever find funny.

The second night though had seen Sherlock encounter a previously unforeseen problem. The omega slipped quickly into sleep and Sherlock was just about dozing off too when his body suddenly reacted to the proximity of John’s scent, the fact that it was night and the hard wiring in his brain that told him to get a move on by now and claim the other man as his mate. He was hard. In the bed. And thank god John was asleep. Because this wasn’t just a bit not good. It was very, very, not good. _I’m better than this. I have control damn it. Just transport. Just transport._ Sod it all, thought Sherlock, all the while pushing thoughts of possibly fucking John out of his head. _Not good, Sherlock. Not good._ His tight hole. _Sherlock you’re digging yourself a deeper chasm, idiot._ _Idiot._ The idea of spilling his seed in the body of the man he had already made pregnant. _This is dull of you, Sherlock._

It affected him so much that he had to get up, go to the bathroom and take care of it himself. _How utterly embarrassing. If Mycroft knew he’d have a field day._

By the fifth night however he had gotten used to it, but it was just about then that the nighttime cravings had started. John had been embarrassed about it the first time. But embarrassed or not he had turned on the light and had potato crisps in the bed while Sherlock just stared at him in wonder. _Potato crisps? Seriously?_

“Yeah I know,” John had answered, practically reading his mind, “With your genes I thought it’d make me crave human blood or burnt asparagus or essence of chamomile or something.”

“For your information John, my mother informs me she had a very easy pregnancy with me.”

“This is a woman that also gave birth to Mycroft.”

“Point taken.”

The sixth night had been comparatively uneventful. And the days after up till now.

Now of course Sherlock finds himself wondering whether to laugh or cry. _It’s 2 am and we’re out eating ice cream of all things._

“You’ve got chocolate on your face, John.” Sherlock says, and he reaches up with his napkin to wipe John’s face himself.

“Sorry.” John says. He always feels a bit guilty afterwards, when he’s resumed his more regular state of mind, craving satisfied, and feels like he’s imposed horribly on Sherlock or something.

“It’s quite alright John.”

“I think I’d like to go back home now,” John says, and Sherlock knows it sort of hurts him to say it, to admit that he can’t head outside by himself now, not with a scent like that.

“It’s going to be so dull trying to find a cab this time of night.” Sherlock remarks.

“We’ll find one.” John says confidently.

He is of course wrong.

The street is pretty much empty outside the hotel and no matter how much Sherlock waves his hands or curses there’s no cab in sight.

“We’ll have to walk.” John suggests from behind him.

“You’re a moving hazard. Every alpha in a 2 mile radius can smell your with child and unclaimed. They’re particularly riled up at night and would likely forget themselves.”

“I don’t see as if we have a choice.”

Sherlock curses. All for ice cream.

But then an idea strikes him. It’s fairly cold outside but he removes his own coat and drapes it over John.

“Put it on,” Sherlock says, “Button it up all the way.”

“Brilliant. Then I’ll smell like you.” _If only you’d let me bite you, this wouldn’t be an issue at all. Bit not good?_

“That is the general idea John.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Obviously.”

“I can’t ask you to--”

“As much as it pains me to say it, given the state I’ve got you in, you’re liable to ask me for anything. Including, it seems, ice cream runs in the dead of night.”

John blushes at that and looks at his feet, and Sherlock notices a dot of ice cream still on the corner of his mouth. Without thinking he wipes it off with his finger and licks it, “Fascinating dichotomy between bitterness and sugariness. Not too sweet but not totally lacking either.” _Was that a bit not good?_

“Kind of like you, eh?” John says. _Good. Apparently that was good. Or at least not bad._

“Did you like the ice cream then?”

“Yeah, it was quite extraordinary. And in its own way not really what I expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adopted this scene from a foreign-language movie. Also chocolate ice cream <3


	7. The Appointment: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock visit the doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basically using this story to write out my favorite tropes.

_Just go up and ask him he said you could ask him for anything. Yes, but this is stupid. Just ask him._

“Sherlock.” John says, not sure how to begin this request.

“Yes?” the other man is lying back on the sofa in his favorite position, his hands are steepled under his chin but his eyes are closed.

“Today’s the appointment.” _Great idea. Start with the obvious. He’ll hate that._

“Yes. You’re still okay with my coming?”

“You sort of have to.”

“Why’s that John?”

“I told them we were bonded.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, just stands up and starts pacing, so John goes on, “Thing is. Unbonded couples. There’s a stigma. And I don’t care much about that. But my insurance won’t cover it unless--”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, “Why did you assume that I could help you pull of a lie this big?”

“You’re you.” _Wow John. Top notch reasoning._

Since Sherlock doesn’t say anything John speaks again, “Can you? Pull it off.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a relief then.”

“You can’t.”

“What do you mean I can’t?” John snaps.

“Well. You’re not as good of an actor as I am.”

“What do you think I won’t be able to do?”

“What is the name of your alpha, John?”

“Sherlock Holmes.” John replies so quickly even he himself wasn’t expecting it. _Ha. That will show him._

Sherlock looks immensely surprised, “It seems I underestimated you. I thought you would at least hesitate.”

“Well. I’m a better actor than you think.” _Or my subconscious already likes to think of you that way._

“Appointment’s in a few minutes. We should leave now. Come here.”

“What--”

John has had dreams about this. That Sherlock would do this very thing. But when it happens his dream experience really doesn’t help, as the feeling of dream Sherlock and real Sherlock is quite pronounced when Sherlock closes the distance between them and pulls John to his solid chest.

“Trick to a good act,” Sherlock says into his ear, slipping an arm around John to pull him even closer, “Is that you believe in everything you are saying in the moment you say it.”

John nods into Sherlock’s shirt, sort of awkwardly gripping his shoulder. _Oh sweet hell._

“Now, John. Who is your alpha?”

“You are.” _This is so easy. I must be a terrific actor. Possibly BAFTA worthy._

"Who bred you and got you with child?"  _This is torture._

"Do we really have to--"

"John."

"You did, my big strong alpha." John rolls his eyes and even Sherlock laughs at that.

There's a brief pause, and suddenly they're so close that John closes his eyes and just breathes in Sherlock's arms while he can. 

“And to whom do you belong?” Sherlock asks, almost hesitantly. _He has a sinful voice. It’s unfair._

“Sherlock.”

“Answer the question.” _Since when can he be so commanding? Better question John, since when do you like it..._

“To you. Only to you.” John has dreaded having to say something like that to someone ever since he knew he was an omega, but this time he finds it really doesn’t bother him. In fact his heart is currently doing cartwheels his mind certainly didn't authorize.

“That’s right John. You’re mine. Only mine.” Sherlock says in a whisper and John is glad it is that instant that Sherlock chooses to release him because the feeling goes directly to his groin.

“You stay right here.” Sherlock says, “I’ll hail a cab.”

_You’re mine. Only mine. Oh god. Stop thinking about it John._

John can only nod.

“Wait I almost forgot.” Sherlock says as he puts on his coat. _What the hell did you possibly forget to do, you wanker? You've done literally everything it's possible to do to me._

He takes his blue scarf and wraps it around John’s neck, “As-as it is you’ll smell like me now anyway. But this will cover your neck.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

There is a sadness in Sherlock’s eyes, but John doesn't know what it's for, “Yes. I have.”


	8. The Appointment: Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives very interesting answers to the nurse. John is more than a bit surprised. Accidental naked touching occurs. They are still idiots.

_**Sherlock** _

This nurse seems nice enough. Not nearly as well-qualified as he would like but she has a degree, a husband, and a child under 1. She’s an omega herself so she probably has some experience with this. Her smile though is a bit more cheery than he would like. Kelly, he supposes is off the list for potential girl’s names because now he’ll only be reminded of this woman--minor tanning addiction--and her incessant questioning. Not that the questioning bothers him of course, he is beyond that. But John is very, very, consistently alarmed at Sherlock’s answers.

“How long were you actively trying for baby before he managed to conceive?” she asks, smiling. _Teeth are perfect. Years of braces._

“Eleven months, three days and two hours.” he recites, storing the data point in his mind for future reference. In that ridiculous baby room in his mind palace.

John’s eyes widen just slightly.

“That’s awfully specific,” the woman seems impressed as she makes notes, “About how often were you having intercourse?”

“Well all the time when he was in heat. You know how it is.” Sherlock smiles his fake charming smile and she nods in understanding, “But even otherwise almost every night.”

He squeezes John’s hand. _Play along._

“Yes. We really wanted this.” John manages stiffly.

“Any fertility boosters used? It’s just for survey purposes you don’t have to answer. Medically non impactful.” she assures them.

“Naturex, Cloisitin and Bellivax concentrate.” Sherlock says, “It’s no problem.”

John’s eyes look like they’re about to bug out of his head for a second.

“How often do you manage to knot him?” she asks, “It’s a bit personal. But it’s on my sheet.”

“Around 100% of the time during penetrative sex.”

“Right. The doctor will be with you in just a moment.” she smiles again and closes the door.

“100% of the time Sherlock?” John asks him incredulously.

“What can I say, you’re really wet for me and I’m very skilled.”

“100%? Even bonded couples can’t do that.”

“It’s a true statement.”

“That’s because we only did it one time…”

“But I did knot you that one time.”

“You’re impossible.”

Before Sherlock can think of a clever retort the doctor comes in and has John sit on the examining table. _34._ _Not married. Lesbian. Likes football. Plays piano in her free time._

Sherlock’s mind drifts off a bit while they exchange pleasantries and he’s rather startled when she leaves again.

“Where is she going? Isn’t she going to apply instrumentation to you so we can see how fast this thing is growing?”

“This thing is our child Sherlock. And she left so I could change into a hospital gown. Weren’t you listening?”

“No.”

“Great. I can’t believe she didn’t take you with her.”

“Why would she do that? I’m your alpha, I’ve seen everything there is to see. Think logically John.” Sherlock says, but even so he turns around anyway, busying himself in reading the very dull diagrams on every wall.

Sherlock really hates the fact that he has a wonderful imagination. Every rustle of clothing, the sound of buttoning, tells him exactly what John is stripping off within feet of him. He tenses slightly at the moment when he calculates that John is completely naked except for his scarf.

“Sherlock close your eyes.” John orders. And Sherlock does.

“Why John?”

“I wanted you to touch it the first time when we were alone. Follow my voice. Stand right behind me.”

Sherlock does, and John reaches behind him to take Sherlock’s hand, placing it on the bare skin of his stomach, “Feel that?”

“Remarkably convex.” Sherlock says softly, his eyes still closed, accidentally stepping forwards so that his chest briefly brushes against John’s back and the front of his trousers against John’s arse, “Sorry.”

Sherlock steps back again and turns around. His heart thudding in his chest. _Say something John. Anything._

“You hoping for a boy or a girl? We won’t know this time around. But maybe next time.”

“I have no preference.” Sherlock recognizes the swish of the gown fabric and turns around, “Do you?”

“Not really.” John hops onto the table again.

In a few minutes Sherlock tries desperately to make sense of a fuzzy black and white image. _So this is what’s inside John. Fascinating._ John reaches out to hold his hand. _Clever. A bonded couple would do that._

“The nurse tells me you two really wanted this. The baby appears quite healthy. You must be very happy.” the doctor says, eying various monitors.

John is very intently not looking at him. 

“I am ecstatic.” _Finally. Not a lie._


	9. The Late Night Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally talk. But not about what they should be talking about. But its getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically however many words this is of me reveling in the sharing-a-bed/pillow talk trope.

 

_**John** _

“I was thinking about when it’d be a good time to ask you--”

“Drugs. It’s about drugs isn’t it. You want to know if your baby will be a cocaine addict.”

“Can I ever finish a sentence?” John asks indignantly. _Maybe waiting until we were in bed together was a bad idea._

“It’s obvious.” Sherlock snaps.

“When we were leaving they handed me a form. I need to write out your medical history. And that entails you telling me what exactly your medical history is. And that probably includes a history of addiction.” John tries to explain calmly.

“It occurred during the ages of 19 to 21. One overdose requiring hospitalization for 3 days.” Sherlock says finally.

“Okay.” John lets out a deep breath, “What about when you were a kid did you ever get any serious diseases? Does anything run in your family?”

“The Holmes’ are very healthy as a rule. I had the chicken pox when I was 9. Happy?”

“Yes, that helps.”

“Anything else?”

“Did you mean it?” John asks quietly.

“Mean what?” Sherlock turns over on his side, so that they’re facing each other.

“You’re ecstatic.”

“It’s not something that I wanted to happen, John. But now that it is I am quite intrigued as to how it will turn out.”

_‘Not something that I wanted to happen’. But ‘intrigued’. That’s...something._

“Why do you call it ‘it’ more often than not?”

“What would you prefer that I call it?”

“I don’t know. The baby.”

“Feels weird.” Sherlock confesses.

“Weird. Weird why.”

“I never thought anyone would ever be having my...baby, John. It’s just not something that I accounted for a great many years. Despite being an alpha.”

“You--you actually don’t like being an alpha, do you?” _I never really saw it that way…_

“It’s not a question of liking John. It’s quite constraining. I am expected to be a certain way. Dominant. Aggressive. I suppose I am. But it runs completely against free will. That...that night when I saw you...I couldn’t think straight. And I need my mind John.”

 _So he regrets it._ “Even so...you never have to go into heat.”

“You’d hoped to be an alpha. You were disappointed.” Sherlock deduces. _Well that hurts. However true it might be._

John pauses, “Yeah. I was.”

“You think it makes you less of a man.” Sherlock continues. _Dear god where is he taking this?_

“Yes.”

“You think it makes you weak. People have always doubted you. Doubted your capability. Even in the military you had to fight hard. Harder than anyone for the right to actually deploy in Afghanistan. If I’m not mistaken they don’t let omegas serve on the front-lines and I’ve always wondered how you managed to get there.”

“I was good. I was bloody good, Sherlock. Now stop this.”

“Why? Are you afraid?”

“Sherlock. Don’t.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Your hormones tell you to pick fights and that you’re indestructible even when you’re destroying yourself piece by piece. And you can’t stop and you can’t admit weakness to anyone ever because you’re a man and you’re an alpha. You’re supposed to be strong. Don’t you get it John?” Sherlock snaps.

“At least you don’t start thinking that all you’re good for is to have babies and make milk.” John says scathingly.

“Do you hate me?” Sherlock asks suddenly, “For having done this to you?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” _Because it’s you, you moron._

“Because you never thought of me as anything less.”

***

**_Sherlock_ **

Another night and John has another series of questions.

“Sexual history.” John says before Sherlock can guess.

“Must I be truthful?” Sherlock asks.

“Yes.”

“Far less fun that way.”

“It’s not about the fun Sherlock. We should probably answer more accurately than we did to the nurse.”

“We had to lie to the nurse. She thought were bonded. That was your idea.”

“You lie a little too well.” John smiles.

“How do you know I wasn’t telling the truth?” Sherlock asks. _Let’s see how he responds to that._

“The truth? How could you possibly have been telling the truth?”

“How do you know I didn’t want to put a baby in you? It wasn’t all a very well-thought out scheme to keep you on going on dates with those silly beta women?”

John laughs. _I love it when he laughs, it’s frustrating how much I need to see it._ “As true as it is that I can hardly go on dates when I’m pregnant with my flatmate’s child, I doubt even you would go to those lengths.”

“Don’t count on it, John.”

“Right. Anyway. How many sexual partners have you had? Including me.” John asks neutrally. _He’s genuinely curious as well. Interesting. I’ll tell him the truth._

“One.”

“No, really, Sherlock.”

“Really John. One.” _Is it that hard to believe?_

“Okay.”

“What okay? Why is this so surprising?”

“I was your first.” _It’s a statement. Not a question._

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, at the time you were pretty insistent on me putting my cock in you right away. I’ve never quite been undressed so qui--”

“I thought we weren’t talking about that night.” _He’s tense again._

“We shouldn’t. But I did think up a clever name for the baby. Unisex.” _I’ll distract him._

“What?”

“The one hit wonder.”

“Sherlock,” John laughs. _It’s the nicest sound in the world. Stop being so sentimental._

“I hope to god you don’t have any more questions.”

“Not from the sheet no.”

“I’m assuming then that I wasn’t your first.”

“Well I’ve slept with beta women before. And there was the alpha I met in a bar once. I was pretty drunk but I’m pretty sure it was a man.”

“Harry was an alpha.”

“Yes.”

“You were jealous.”

“Mycroft’s an alpha isn’t he? What was that like growing up?” _He’s deflecting. Alright._

“We butted heads. Constantly. Though I think that would have happened anyway. You’ve met him. Insufferable prick.”

“So you don’t want our baby to be close to its uncle?” _Our baby. He’s never said that before._

“Our baby can do what it likes. That’s the way it’ll want it after all. Being a Holmes and a Watson. It’ll probably drive us mad.” Sherlock lays a hand on John’s stomach, lazily stroking the bump.

 _He’s surprised_. John coughs, “Then you want...you want to be in the baby’s life.”

“Obviously, I can hardly stop seeing you. For the first few years we could easily continue living in the flat and I thought--”

“You would do all of this?”

“I didn’t ask you to get pregnant John. But I don’t mind that you did.”


	10. The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock fight. And Sherlock realizes exactly what he wants.

_**John** _

“I need to think. Annie Ludgate was murdered three days ago. But her umbrella was found three miles from the murder scene. But why? It wasn’t even raining in Surrey for that entire week. She would never have gotten it out and left it anywhere.” Sherlock rants.

“Take a break Sherlock. You’ve been at it for hours.”

“A break? A break? This is the first interesting case we’ve had in months.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to compromise your health and sanity.” _Honestly. How can a genius be such an idiot?_

“Go to bed John. I mean it. I need to solve this.” _What the hell? Why’s he being like this?_

“I can help.”

“Your pregnant ramblings are of no use to me.”

“What does me being pregnant have anything to do with it?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. Now can you please leave me be.” _No. I won’t leave you be. You're manic and obsessive. And you're not yourself._

“You haven’t slept in three days.”

“I’m not the one growing another human being inside me. I don’t need the sleep.”

“Yes. You do. Now, Sherlock.”

“It isn’t enough that we couldn’t visit her father’s farm or interview her brother the mechanic? Do you have to get in the middle of this too?” _He’s not like this. Why’s he being like this?_

“I couldn’t stand the smell of all those plants. You had already dragged me halfway around the city at that point. And it was way too crowded in that factory and you know it. You’re the one that told me we shouldn’t go because there were too many alphas in there.”

“You’re always nauseous. You’re always tired. And I know it’s hard for you, really. But just this once. Leave. Me. Alone.” _That hurts. That hurts like hell._

“You’re getting way too obsessive.” John says quietly, “You’re sleep deprived. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m not your mate John, it’s none of your concern.” _Okay. Fine. Well that settles that._

“Enjoy your thinking.”

***

_**Sherlock** _

_Why did I say that to him? Why do I always say things?_ After falling asleep in his chair an hour later Sherlock wakes up regretting everything. In the end he had solved the case, but at what cost? _I hurt him. I really did_. It’s 7 pm, it’s not too dark outside yet, so John could have gone out, but first he’ll check the flat. John’s not in the bedroom. The bathroom. He’s not in his original bedroom. _Where did he go? Where would he go?_

He looks around the flat and gains a quick survey of John’s likely last movements. He processes his likely intentions. _The mechanic. He’s gone to get the testimony from the mechanic. No. He can’t do that. The mechanic killed his sister. If John goes asking questions the mechanic will kill him._

 

He quickly texts Lestrade.

_Send police to the brother’s house. -SH_

_The brother? -GL_

_He’s guilty. I’ll explain later. John’s in danger. -SH_

 

And then his brother.

_Send whomever/whatever you can to detain George Barnes before he lays a hand on John. -SH_

 

Sherlock tries to think of a plan. Any plan. To get to John before it’s too late. His protective instincts launching into overdrive and are simultaneously propelling and fogging his mind. _Why did you upset him? You made him want to prove himself. He’s always had to prove himself. He’s going to get hurt. Your baby is going to hurt. The only two people you’ve ever loved in your miserable life._

Sherlock pulls his phone out frantically.

_John. Come back home. -SH_

_The mechanic is the murderer. -SH_

_I solved the case. I don’t need the testimony. -SH_

_I was an idiot. -SH_

_I do need you. -SH_

 

No reply. Sherlock curses and darts out of the flat, hailing a cab and barking instructions at the driver. In his haste he remembers he forgot John’s gun in the flat, but if he wants to make good time he can’t double back. Besides, he can throttle this guy with his bare hands if he thinks he’ll lay a finger on John. In fact he has half a mind to.

_John please read this. -SH_

_John the mechanic is the murderer. -SH_

_John I’m sorry. -SH_

Sherlock calls him while in the cab, hoping that if the phone rings John might pick it up. No one picks up.

“Drive faster.”

“I’m going the speed limit.”

“Faster, you will go faster or I will do my best to see that you go to prison for your gambling habits, the marijuana you have in the glove compartment or at the very least I will let your wife know you have been cheating on her with the woman from the laundromat.” _If he doesn’t increase the speed within two minutes I should force him from the vehicle and drive myself._

“Yes, sir.” _Good. Ejecting him would have cost time._

When they get to the house it’s getting dark. _Why did I force John into this mess? My John. If he hurt him...no, think Sherlock. What’s the best way to gain entry. Where might John be right at this instant? The lights are on. If I enter through the back I could break open a window. Better idea than the front door. Screen door’s unlocked. John’s been here already._

Sherlock pops in through the back door and finds a window already open. He climbs in quietly and snoops around the house. Ear waiting for the sound of voices. John’s voice. Though more likely than not he’ll get John’s scent first. Downstairs. The basement. He can smell John. He’s still alive. _Yes. Yes. Oh thank god. I can fix this. I can. I've got time._

Sherlock creeps down to the basement and finds John sitting in a pool of blood. Blood stains his jeans and his jacket and his lower stomach... _No. No. John._

He runs to his side, and John smiles at him. _Why is he smiling?_

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry John.” Sherlock can only look at John’s face as he scents him and touches him all over to make sure he’s alright.

“He shot himself in the head. It’s not my blood.”

“I know.” Sherlock sighs in relief as he cups John’s face in his hand, “I was so afraid. That something happened to you because of...because of me. And when I saw--the blood...I thought...maybe something happened. To the baby...or...to you John. But it’s his blood. Oh it’s Christmas!”

“Ssshh.” John says carefully, easing into Sherlock’s touch, “You shouldn’t sound so glad that someone shot themselves.”

“He was a murderer. And if he had touched you I would have killed him myself.” Sherlock says fiercely, clutching John to him, inhaling as much as is possibly of his scent, his nose touching John’s hair.

“As soon as I started questioning him I knew. He tried to fight me, but I got him into a headlock and something in him snapped. He grabbed a gun off the table and he just...he just shot himself Sherlock. Just like that.” John says, a bit awestruck.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, John.”

“I’m okay, Sherlock. I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry you had to see this. I wasn’t thinking straight. You were right, John.”

“I was stupid too, rushing off to prove myself when I shouldn’t. I was weak. If he hadn’t decided to...I couldn’t have done anything.”

“John as soon as Lestrade or Mycroft’s men come I’m taking you to the hospital. Then we’ll go home. And we’ll stop taking murder cases. At least until the baby’s born.”

“You don’t have to do that, Sherlock.” John yawns, resting his head against Sherlock’s chest.

“I do, John.” Sherlock says softly as he realizes how tired John is, how he’s just seconds from falling asleep. _All because of my stupidity. Never again_. “I have to take care of you.”

“Right. Of course. It’s in your genes.” John murmurs sleepily.

Sherlock has never felt anything like this. The way John is nestled against him, asleep. The way the bump that is their child rests against his lower chest. _Oh dear god I need this man._

“And my heart.”


	11. The Kick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets more than a little bit jealous. John thinks his outburst was a bit not good.

_**John** _

It’s more than a bit uncomfortable going out with Sherlock now. Even if they’re no longer doing Lestrade cases or murder cases whenever they leave the flat to investigate its like he’s waving a flag that reads ‘I had sex!’ and it’s heavily implied that it was with Sherlock. What with the extra baby weight and the bump finally starting to show. And after all the alpha is never farther than two or three feet away. At all times. If John wasn’t so taken with him he’s sure it would be annoying.

It’s been a few weeks since the Ludgate incident but Sherlock’s new protective streak shows no sign of letting up. He’s still playing the violin to John and the baby every night. The flat is still clean. And believe it or not, every night before they go to bed Sherlock lifts up John’s shirt to see the bump and kisses it. And even more surprising, John lets him. Because after all, they’re still not really together and the first time it happened John thought it was more of an accident on Sherlock’s part but John doesn’t think it could hurt, Sherlock having this affection for the baby. He certainly doesn’t try to kiss John anywhere else. Not to say he’s gotten used to it of course, every time Sherlock does it John gets butterflies in his stomach, that surging feeling in his chest and that tingle up his spine. _I have it bad. My god I have it bad for Sherlock Holmes._

When they go out John learns to stifle the smile he gets every time another alpha gets near them and Sherlock wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. Whenever they meet new clients who always ask how far along John is and Sherlock answers, with that brightness in his eyes normally reserved for murder and other unseemly gore. John never expects it, all the little things Sherlock does. How Sherlock always knows when they’re out now that John isn’t quite feeling up to more legwork and they go home. How Sherlock doesn’t rush ahead of him now like he used to, always there to offer his arm if John falters. Sherlock always has food with him now too, food he never eats, just in case they’re stuck somewhere and John’s hungry. _If this is what Sherlock’s like maybe I should have gotten pregnant a long time ago?_

He’s read that alphas can get like this around their pregnant omegas. So he wonders how much of it will fade after the baby is born. He wonders what to expect. And every time Sherlock slips his arm around him in the busy streets he wonders if the next time, or the next time after the next time, will be the last.

He never voices these concerns to Sherlock. After all, why ruin a good thing? At least not until the case that takes them to a bar. The bartender is an alpha, John knows, and the conversation is going well, John’s learned a few tricks from Sherlock over the years, about how to get information. He’s thoroughly dumbfounded when Sherlock appears seemingly out of nowhere (last John saw he was questioning a couple by the door), and is completely furious.

“So where are you from?” the man asks in a friendly tone.

“Live in London actually.” John smiles, “You?”

“Scottish, actually. Lovely countryside. You should go sometime.”

“I’d like you to get away from him.” Sherlock snaps at the man he’s just met. _Um. Sherlock. What are you doing?_

“What’s your problem, mate?” the man asks.

“Sherlock, we were just chatting--” John tries to explain, but he can see that Sherlock’s already made up his mind.

“Don’t even look at him. Do you understand? Look at me. Or is that too difficult for your simple mind to comprehend?” Sherlock says coldly, and John isn’t sure if he’s talking to the bartender or to him. _What’s he on about?_

“Look mate, who even are you? John here was just asking about--”

“He’s spoken for. Can’t you observe anything?” John’s read about this. He’s seen movies where this happens. Two alphas fighting over an omega. But he never thought it’d happen to him.

“Doesn’t smell that way to me…” the bartender trails off, “He’s not bonded. So I don’t know what you’re going on about…”

“John.” Sherlock turns to him and implores, “John come.”

He does. Because he doesn’t want to make a scene. But as soon as they’re outside he lets Sherlock have it.

“What the hell was that?” John asks, trying to keep from shouting.

“He was flirting with you. Serial adulterer. He’s picked up omegas in this bar before. And I couldn’t. The thought of his disgusting little hands on you…” Sherlock trails off, cursing.

“I can handle myself.” _If you don’t have any intent to bond with me yourself, you shouldn’t be like this. Leaving me all these hints that lead nowhere._

“Not like this.” Sherlock says, and John only has half an idea what that means.

“Sherlock. You had absolutely no right to do that. Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t have conversations with other people…”

“I have every right.” _That’s it Sherlock._

“Why?” _Say it. Say that you want me and I’m yours._

“I just do, John.” _Wrong answer._

“I think I’m hailing myself a cab. You’re welcome to join me.” John remarks coolly.

“John. We are not finished having this conversation.”

“Oh I think we’re finished.”

John ignores every subsequent attempt of Sherlock trying to have a conversation with him. When they reach the flat he tries to drown him out by switching on the television but even here Sherlock thwarts him, turning down the volume entirely.

“We have to discuss this John.” Sherlock says.

“No. Actually we don’t.”

“You’re being pigheaded. I was in the right.”

“No, Sherlock. You weren’t. Let’s say for arguments sake, that he was flirting with me. Do you think I’m stupid enough to flirt back? You think I don’t know what’s good for me?”

“Well. Not exactly.”

“Great. You have no respect for me.”

“No. I just think. I just think...that you...I saw him and you and my mind just short circuited.”

“Congratulations.” John says sarcastically.

“You know what fine. If you love him so much you should go have his baby.”

“Sherlock. You have no idea how childish that sounds. I was not even remotely interested in him.” John raises his voice.

“Right.” Sherlock doesn’t sound convinced.

“Sherlock. I have been carrying your child inside of me for months now. If that’s not proof enough that I’m not looking to go anywhere. Then I seriously don’t know what is…” John puts his head in his hands.

“I just thought. You haven’t had a date in months...you might…” Sherlock trails off.

“Are you insane?” John is yelling at this point.

“It’s only logical to want some stimulation or sensation from time to time. In the past you--”

John gets up, “Believe me. In case you haven’t noticed. I’m getting more than enough sensation from Sherlock Jr. to chase after some alpha I don’t even know.”

Sherlock starts to respond but before he can John abruptly sits back down, clutching his swollen belly, feeling a sensation almost like the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach.

“What is it?” Sherlock’s voice is frozen with worry, argument forgotten, as he sits down next to John, cautiously reaching out and touching him.

“The baby’s kicking.” John laughs.

“Oh!” Sherlock looks pleased, “Is it?”

“Here, feel.” John grabs Sherlock’s hand so he can feel it too.

“John? Do you feel that John? It’s marvelous.”

“Of course I can feel it, it’s happening inside me.”

“You are amazing.” Sherlock says to him, “You are fantastic.”

“Stop stealing my line.” John says, relishing the praise.

“Believe me, John.” Sherlock says softly, and John believes it’s an apology of sorts for whatever happened when they were out, “I’ve never done anything half so extraordinary as this.”


	12. The Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discover new truths about the heart.

**_Sherlock_ **

_Mine. Mine._ The thought nagged at Sherlock’s brain every time he saw John nowadays. _Shut up. Not yours yet. But he's having my baby? Still_. Every time John gained a little more weight the feeling had more emphasis. _I did that_.  He should probably feel bad, but as it began to take John progressively more effort to climb the stairs, though he tried not to show it, it brought a slight guilty smile to his face. _It’s my child inside him that’s doing this._ Even when John was eating. _Everything he eats, he’s feeding our child._ The flat. _Our home_. The bed. _Our bed_. And it all kept circling back to that little miracle that had somehow happened those months ago. _Our baby. John’s and mine._

He loves it. This baby. He isn’t sure when he started to love it. Maybe he always did? But in his off moments he drifts to that nursery room in his mind palace and he thinks of it. _This is becoming an obsession Sherlock_. He pictures how it will be when it’s born, all red and miraculous and his and John’s. _Sherlock you’ve completely taken leave of your senses_. Even now he can hardly get enough of it, kissing John’s bump every night in that ridiculously saccharine way, wondering at what point John will make him stop. Will tell him that’s enough. Too close. Too much. _But what if it’s not too close?_ Sherlock imagines waking up in the morning and seeing his child suckling at John’s breast, a vision that will be for his eyes alone. _Mine._ He imagines the child coming with him on cases, another permanent staple to the life he and John share. And then he realizes. Like it or not, though it’s grown to far more since then, he started loving this child because he knew it would tie him and John together forever. It will be difficult, Sherlock thinks guiltily, for John to leave after he has birthed the child of another alpha. _See what you’ve done to him, Sherlock. No one likes second-hand_. Yet  nowadays Sherlock doesn’t miss the little glow of happiness John gets every time Sherlock kisses his stomach. _Maybe, just maybe, John feels it too?_

“John. Come out. You’ve been in there for half an hour.” Sherlock pounds on the bathroom door.

“John!” Sherlock says again, “Any longer and I will pick the lock.”

A very annoyed looking John comes out, “No need.” _He isn’t okay. Panic mode = launched._

“Is it the baby? Are you in any pain?” Sherlock asks quickly.

“No. Not that. I’m fine, Sherlock.” John moves over to the living room and Sherlock follows him. _He’s upset._

“I forgot to ask. How was your meeting with Harry?”

“Excellent. Just excellent.” John says, annoyed.

“I trust she said something you did not appreciate.” _Obvious, that much._

“Yeah. I...don’t worry about it.”

“John.”

“She’s worried about me. She’s worried about me, isn’t that hilarious? She’s the one who’s life is a mess and she’s worried about me. The nerve of some people.” John rants.

“Why is she worried?” Sherlock asks.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting older. I’m hopelessly fat right now. I’m going to have a baby. No alpha in their right mind is going to want to...bond with me that is. They’ll have me, sure. She said as much, they get off on it. But they won’t bond me. Not like this.”

“You never wanted to bond with anyone John. At least I didn’t think that was something you actively desired.”

“We all want it. I can say whatever I like but it doesn’t change the fact that I...forget it Sherlock.”

_I don’t want to forget John._

“John?” Sherlock offers carefully.

“You’re only human too. She seems to think...you won’t bond with me because you’re waiting for...this is hilarious because she doesn’t know you...doesn’t know that you don’t want. She thinks you’re waiting for a younger omega. She says she knows how the alpha mind works. If they’re not ready to commit.”

“I’m not waiting.” Sherlock says simply.

John looks at him, processes for a second, “What?”

“The child that you will give me John is the only one I shall ever have. I’m not waiting. And if she’s worried you’re ending up alone she could be right. But if that occurs I assure you we’ll be alone together.”

“So she was wrong...about you...and…” John trails off.

“From the alpha perspective as I see it John you have always been immensely attractive. As a mindset not all of them go for the younger ones. Even I, at times, before, had to exercise a great deal of self-control. I never mentioned it to you for fear that it would make things awkward. But given our current situation...as omegas go your scent is peculiarly intoxicating and...if I had not had you in heat then balance of probability I would have taken what was in front of me anyway. And as you know, I consider myself a man of great restraint.” _Harry is right that most wouldn’t bond him. But this at least...might comfort him?_

“Are you saying...from a purely sexual perspective you find me…” _He’s shocked. He wasn’t expecting this._

“Yes.” Sherlock gets up to leave. _You might have gone too far._ “And when this is over. And if you don’t find another alpha quite to your liking. You’ll still find me right here where you left me...and then...we could talk about that night.”

_He’s speechless._

***

**_John_ **

 

 _‘We could talk about that night’. Just tell him John. You want to talk about it now. You want him_. John has never been this happy in whole life, as he’s lying in bed next to Sherlock Holmes. Tomorrow, after they come home from the doctor’s office and find out the sex of the baby, tomorrow, he’s going to tell him. They can stop this dance. _He wants me. I saw it in his eyes. The way he kissed my stomach before he went to his own side of the bed. His lips lingered. He wants me. He wants us. The three of us. Our baby. Mine and Sherlock’s._

 

This time when John strips off his clothes in the examining room he doesn’t care that Sherlock is standing so close.

“It’s a lot bigger than it was...if you want to come up behind me again…” It’s not strictly necessary to do it this way. _So will he take the hint?_

“Of course it's bigger. I’d expected as much.” _He’s walking here. Taking his time. His eyes are still closed._

John tenses when he realizes Sherlock is behind him. He guides Sherlock's hand to his stomach and his hand is on top of Sherlock’s as it caresses their child.

“Is this alright?” Sherlock is rubbing soft, soothing circles onto his skin, he’s so close now, John can feel the whisper of his voice.

“Yes. I want...I want you to touch me.” _It’s never going to be a clearer invitation than this._

Sherlock takes a step and suddenly John’s naked body is pressed up against Sherlock’s front. Both of Sherlock’s hands are wrapping around John’s swollen belly. Then his hands work their way up John’s sides. As they grip John’s shoulder Sherlock presses a kiss to the back of John’s neck, “Like this?” _Oh god yes._

John nods. _How old am I? To get so turned on by a kiss and some caressing?_

But it’s something else. It’s something else entirely when Sherlock’s hands fondle John’s arse from behind. When they run up and down John’s back. His fingers gently dancing upon John’s naked skin. _I told him to touch me. And that’s exactly what he’s doing. But I didn’t think it’d be like this._

John loves the pressure when Sherlock feels around his legs. His coarse hair in that place, the slight wetness in that other place Sherlock has only touched those long months ago. Then Sherlock is touching his cock. Those long fingers are so dextrous...John knows...from all that violin. _Oh god. Oh...Sherlock._

It’s then that he remembers that the other man’s eyes are still closed. _If it feels this good when he can’t see what he’s doing then…_

There’s a knock at the door, “Can I come in?”

“One minute.” John says. They break apart like naughty schoolchildren caught kissing behind a hedge.

John blushes as he slips on the hospital gown, still hopelessly aroused.

Sherlock opens his eyes and then looks to the door, “You can come in now. He’s as decent as he’ll ever be.”

John shoots him an insincere glare for that. But he’s surprised to see that Sherlock’s expression is quite unreadable. _He doesn’t get it. He thinks I needed to be touched. But not necessarily by him. Doesn’t matter. There’s time for that. We’ll have plenty of time._

This time when the image comes up it’s far clearer. This time when the image comes up John knows he can finally put a clearer image to his fantasy. He knows who exactly he can thank for having brought Sherlock to him at last in a way he had least expected. _Our baby. Our beautiful son._

But then as they’re leaving the doctor takes Sherlock aside. She points out a few things on the sheet in her hand. His face turns grave. The phrases “weak heartbeat” and “don’t alarm him” are the only things he picks out of her end of the conversation. Sherlock is only nodding. _No. No. Not him. Not my son. Not after everything._

“Sherlock. Tell me what she told you.” John demands in the cab.

“She specifically wanted for me to take you home. To tell you somewhere familiar. It’s...it’s very common for omegas to take too much stress when they hear news like this. They endanger themselves and the...the baby…” Sherlock is almost stuttering. _It’s bad. He’s cracking. My son._

“Please, John. Just wait until we get home.” Sherlock takes his hand, stroking it, and suddenly that touching in the examining room feels like a lifetime ago.

John doesn’t know why he listens to him. But he lets Sherlock take him by the hand. Take him to their bed. Then as they’re lying there together he lets Sherlock kiss him. It’s just a soft brush on the lips at first but then Sherlock is hungrier. Pulling John into him with more force and desperation. His eyes are wide when he pulls away. They’re wet with tears that John never expected Sherlock had.

“John. John.” Sherlock says, and he’s not sobbing uncontrollably but just letting a quiet sort of strain paint his face as tears slip down his cheeks. Down those beautiful cheekbones John thinks their son will share.

 _I thought he would be comforting me. I thought he was the stronger one. My alpha. My baby's father._ “Sherlock. Sherlock what did she say?”

“Our baby’s heartbeat is weak John.” Sherlock regains a bit of composure second by second, as if a switch clicks in his mind as he realizes that if John breaks at this, he has to stay whole.

“How...how weak? How could this…”

“It happens sometimes. It’s...there’s a fifty fifty chance...he’ll pull through. Our son.”

“Is it...is it because…?” _Is it because we weren’t bonded? Did I doom him from the start?_

Sherlock kisses him again, and John knows what it means. _It wasn’t you John. It wasn’t your fault._

Then John kisses him back, and he knows what that means too. _Let me lose myself in you. Before I lose myself entirely._

 


	13. That Night: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV of the night their son was conceived.

**_John_ **

John remembers that night as if it was yesterday. It’s etched onto the inside of his brain. It’s written on his very soul.

It had been a bad time to go into heat. He’d heard that it could be triggered early by stress, and maybe it was. It had more than stressful being strapped to semtex, and giving Sherlock the go ahead to blow them both to heaven or hell. Luckily though, by this time in his life he had sufficient indication around an hour before that the madness was going to start. He had gotten used to the signals, so to speak, so he set about the task he did every time he had a cycle--making sure Sherlock did anything but come inside. 

Sherlock had been good about it thus far. And by good John meant that he hadn’t explicitly sulked, or complained. Excepting the one time of course when he had attested he had enough control to stay away from John even within the same flat. They had argued about that. They didn’t really talk about it much though. Excepting the first time in Angelo’s. Remembering that still made John cringe. _Unbonded, then? Like me. Good. I’m flattered by your interest John but I’m not really looking for any…_

But right now was a bad time. He usually gave Sherlock a bit more warning before he had to vacate the flat for three days. Texting him an hour before didn’t even guarantee that he saw it.

_I’m going into heat. Don’t come home. -JW_

There was no reply. John wished he hadn’t abused texting Sherlock with all those requests for him to get milk, or this, or that, so much so that Sherlock summarily assumed middle-of-the-day texts were mundane and only read them just as he came home, if he was going that way at all. Yet sending that text, trying to call Sherlock, as if he’d pick up, and generally going around the flat like a ticking time bomb were the only things he could do and...

Suddenly Sherlock was in the flat. Tall, strong, dark-haired, lovely alpha Sherlock. _Why is he here now? This is a bad time. Very bad time._

“Did you read the text?” John asked.

No answer to that. _Maybe Sherlock can tell too. That a heat is coming? Maybe he…_

“John...I’ve been...I’ve been thinking about the pool...about Moriarty…” _We can’t possibly have this conversation now._

“Sherlock. I don’t think you understand--”

“I do John. I do understand. For a second there I thought that you…” Sherlock looked as if he’d come to a revelation. He looked at John as if John was the revelation.

But it was then. Right then. That John lost himself to the heat.

“Sherlock I need your cock in me.” _He’s re-calculating. He realizes I’m going into heat right this second. I need him. I need him so much it’s going to kill me._

“John, you…you don’t possibly want…you’re in heat...I...I shouldn’t…” _How does he possibly have the willpower to hesitate? What is he made of...steel?_

Then words came out of John’s mouth without his even knowing. Without his even thinking any of them through.

“Of course you should. Of course it’s you. It’s always you. Sherlock please.” John grabbed at the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, that gorgeous purple shirt that’s always driven him mad. _Don’t you see Sherlock? We’re made for each other. Alpha and omega._

There was desire in Sherlock’s eyes. They were practically overflowing with raw need, a craving as ancient as nature. As real as the Earth itself. Even his voice sounded vaguely like he’d been intoxicated by something, and even in his heat haze John recognized that his own pheromones were going straight to Sherlock’s brain, “You don’t want this--me…” _He’s already hard for me. He knows he won’t be able to walk away now. It’s too late. Way too late. So why is he fighting it?_

John’s had already worked off Sherlock’s shirt by now, running his hands over Sherlock’s fair skin, “Idiot. You. Want you, Sherlock. My alpha.”

Then Sherlock slid him right into his lap, cupped his face in his long fingered hands so their matching eyes, fevered with desire were barely an inch apart. Their noses were practically touching. John had always wanted to be so close to Sherlock. Always, always wanted. Sherlock’s scent was better than just any random alpha that might have popped by. It was home, and tea, that shampoo and product he always used, hell, he even smelled the tiniest bit like John himself.

“John there is nothing I desire more in this moment than you...but the consequences…” Sherlock could barely speak above a whisper.

“Oh Sherlock. My Sherlock. Shut up.” John closed the distance between them until they were kissing. _Need him. Need his cock. Need his big, alpha cock inside me._

Then John remembers that Sherlock lost his last remaining reserve of self-control. John had always hated this part of alpha-omega sex in the past. The fact that the alpha would completely dominate and dictate where this was going. But as Sherlock kissed him back, rather forcefully easing his tongue into John’s mouth, he didn’t hate it at all. _I didn’t know you could be like this…_

John was still sitting in his lap, his arms around Sherlock’s neck, clinging to his naked torso, as Sherlock moved down to fiercely kiss his neck. _My neck. He’s not going to...I don’t even care if he does..._ But Sherlock didn’t. Instead settling for rather aggressively lifting John’s jumper over his head and then resuming what John felt were oddly unpracticed kisses along John’s neck and chin. His collarbone. _Why would that be…?_

“Bedroom. Sherlock…” was the only coherent sound John was capable of extricating out of himself.

“What do you want John?” the low rumble of Sherlock’s voice was driving John crazy.

“Your cock.” _Jesus is he doing this? Is it Sherlock touching me like this? But it could only be him if it feels like this._

Sherlock only paused for a briefest instant as he lifted John’s undershirt over his head. _The scar. He’s looking at the scar_.

“You wear way too many clothes John.” Sherlock said.

“Next time...next time I’ll be naked for you…” John lost his next words as Sherlock lifted him up. _Is this a dream? Then it’s a good dream._

A second later he was deposited on the bed. Sherlock’s bed. _Yes. Sherlock’s going to give me what I need. Sherlock’s going to take care of me. Sherlock always does._

“Sherlock please. Not much longer. No foreplay. Need you. Please.” John begged, “Please Sherlock.”

Sherlock was divesting himself of the rest of his clothes in the corner while John felt the unseemly wetness creep through his own pants.

 _He really is an alpha._ For some reason despite knowing Sherlock’s biological qualification John had never actually pictured that Sherlock might look like that. His legs were thin but well muscled. _Can I even take a cock that thick inside of me? God. Really want to find out._

Sherlock came to the foot of the bed and climbed over John from the bottom up, unzipping his trousers and rather forcefully throwing them to the side.

“Red pants? Really?” Sherlock asked as he came so he was propping himself right over John, his naked member pressing hard against the crimson cloth.

“You never know when it’s going to be a lucky day.”

Sherlock laughed as he kissed John again, “You’re so wet down there. It’s leaking onto the bed.”

“For you. Wet for you. My strong alpha. Need you. Need your babies.”

“Hardly.” Sherlock panted between kisses, “Likely.”

“Don’t make me wait.” John said as Sherlock slid off the red pants, “I’ve been waiting...so long.” _Years actually._

Sherlock spread apart John’s naked legs, “You’re so gorgeous, John. You’re...”

“Less talking.” _Why is he making me wait? What’s wrong with him? Doesn’t he know I’m aching for him? Only for him?_

When Sherlock entered his body the first time John screamed in pleasure. _Do it again, Sherlock. Sherlock please._

He didn’t know how many times Sherlock thrust into him. _I can take him. All of him._

“Oh. Oh.” are the only two things he remembers Sherlock said. His face is flushed from the effort. But as John felt Sherlock inside of him, as they were connected he could tell that Sherlock was excited. _We fit together perfectly. It’s unreal._

John clutched at Sherlock’s body. He kissed him as Sherlock thrust so deep. _He’s knotting me. Oh god he is. Oh, Sherlock. Oh my god._ They were connected for minutes afterward. Sherlock spilling his seed almost rhythmically inside him.

“I love you.” John said.

Sherlock said nothing, continuing to kiss John hungrily even as they were still joined.

“It’s never felt...like this...only with you…”

Then they simply lay against each other, until Sherlock withdrew from him, and even then John remembers he was still against Sherlock’s chest.

“How was that? How was it for you?”

“For me?” _There’s something in his tone. Something I don’t recognize._

“Sherlock.”

The feelings of the heat were fading then, just as John known that they would soon after the alpha took him. Sherlock seemed to be gradually coming into himself. Just as John realized what they had done. A feeling of dread crept into him. _What’s Sherlock going to say?_

“Perhaps I should go.” _No. Sherlock please._

John didn’t think he could speak now. It was happening too fast. One minute Sherlock buried deep inside of him. The next…

“Sherlock I never meant…” he tried to explain.

“It’s alright. I understand. We won’t talk about it.”

Then he was gone. John lay in his bed alone. Their discarded clothes mocking him from their various places inside the room. The ghost feeling of Sherlock inside of him. Sherlock’s knot inside of him. Sherlock’s seed. Coming down from the high of a heat has always been hard. But he’d never been taken quite like this before. _I need him to hold me. I need him to come back._ John felt the ache inside of him. The hollowness that he knew no one but Sherlock could fill. _We won’t talk about it. He’s ashamed. He doesn’t want me. He didn’t...but surely he liked...I told him I loved him._ John had hated being an omega all of his life. But never more than now. _He’ll never see me the same again. Now that he’s been in me he’ll see me like all the rest of them do._ John looked up at the ceiling, turned his face into the pillow, gave up his rational mind to the hormones that told him how desperately he wanted Sherlock’s bond bite, and wept.


	14. The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock holds John in bed until he can fall asleep.

After what feels like hours of soft sweet kisses John wakes up in the bed next to Sherlock. _He must have brought me here after I fell asleep._ Yet the slight distance between them is still too much. So he edges towards Sherlock and feels a wave of relief as Sherlock pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. _Did it really have to take something like this to bring us together?_

“I cannot sleep either,” Sherlock says.

“Is it possible to miss something you never had?” John asks.

“Yes.” Sherlock says, and John knows its true, he knows it from the way Sherlock kissed him. So softly. So carefully. Like John and the baby inside him were both made of glass. Maybe they were.

“Don’t let me go.” _If I don’t tell him now, I never will._

“Never again John.” Sherlock says, and John feels as if the great weight he’s carrying (no pun intended), just got a bit lighter.

“You’re a genius. Can you think of something? Can you think of something that could save our baby?” John says, a glimmer of hope in his voice. _If anyone can. It’s Sherlock._

“John…” Sherlock begins to explain.

“Sherlock. I need to hold my baby. He’s in me and I can’t help him. Do you know what that feels like?” John whispers.

“I can’t imagine. So I won’t pretend to.” _He won’t lie to me._

“Tell me Sherlock. When you brought me home did you kiss me because I needed it or because…?”

“Can I be honest?”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t thinking at all. Which never happens. I just felt. Whatever I did I wasn’t getting any direction from my brain at all. It was completely natural. Not at all premeditated.”

“You were listening to your heart.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You told Moriarty you didn’t have one.” John points out.

“Selective communication, John. Moriarty doesn’t get to know the things about me that you do. Elementary practice of secrecy.”

“But once you said, you seemed like you enjoyed playing games with him.” John wonders whether he should say it, but then decides to anyway.

“Those were games. Games I do not care to play anymore. This is real life. You’re my real life John.”

“I keep thinking you’re going to leave. I keep thinking my baby is slipping away from me right as we’re talking, Sherlock.” John doesn’t know what hysteria is gripping him, but it’s choking him.

“Ssshhh,” Sherlock strokes John’s back, “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you, John. My omega.” _My omega. He’s never said that before._

John calms down a bit, but his fingernails are still digging into Sherlock, “I can’t lose him.”

“John getting worked up won’t do any good. Just relax.”

“I can’t. I can’t Sherlock, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Sherlock says.

“No it’s not okay!” John snaps.

“Turn the other way John.”

“What? I--”

“Bump’s getting in the way. You’ll feel better this way. I’ve read about it.”

John turns the other way so they’re both facing the bedroom door. Sherlock holds him from behind, he gently caresses the bump, and runs his hand up and down John’s arm reassuringly as he spoons him.

“I didn’t expect. I never expected that you--”

“I never expected it either. If it makes you feel any better.”

“I didn’t mean...I’m sorry if I--”

“Don’t apologize to me. Don’t worry about a thing. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m your alpha.”

“I’m scared Sherlock. I’ve never been this scared. Not in Afghanistan. Not even...at the pool.”

“Listen to my voice. Okay? Don’t think about anything else.” Sherlock says softly.

“Alright.”

“When I was little I wanted to be a pirate.” Sherlock begins.

“Mycroft mentioned.”

“Remind me to kill him.”

“Will do.” John promises.

“As I was saying…” Sherlock grips John just a bit tighter against him, “I wanted to be a pirate so badly I drew a mustache on my face in permanent marker and it didn’t come off for a week.”

“Really?” John laughs, “I can’t imagine.”

“There are photographs.”

“Why a pirate Sherlock?”

“Out on the open sea you’re never bored. Pirates don’t follow anyone else’s rules. They do what they want. Have their own code. Plus the hats. Bloody terrific. Exactly what I sought in detective work isn’t it? Antidote to boredom, total freedom to take my own cases, and that horrid death-frisbee everyone keeps making me wear.”

“For the last time, it’s a deer-stalker.” John smiles.

“Anyway. Around the same time Mycroft was a bit preoccupied with food. He once ate so many biscuits out of our mother’s  jar that he learned baking all in one afternoon to replace the whole set. Of course his were better than any Mummy had ever made so she found out immediately.”

“Mycroft. Your brother Mycroft can bake?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.” Sherlock says genially.

“If you’re tired of holding me like this--”

“I never used to believe in these biological qualifications dictating our natures but there are some things that make sense that I should have recognized long before. I took my pleasure in you, I spilled my seed in you and I got you with child. But I didn’t hold you then. Because of impressions in my mind that were wrong. Oh so wrong. Now I hardly want to let you go.” Sherlock confesses.

“You never answered. Was it good for you?”

“Is that important?”

“I’d like to know.”

“It was, John. In your words it was brilliant.”

“Why were you a virgin?”

“Sex always seemed messy to me, unnecessary. Prevents logic.”

“Had you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Yes. Briefly. And years ago.” Sherlock answers.

“Why do you hate Mycroft so much?”

“He believes himself superior because he’s better than me at rejecting sentiment and otherwise smarter as well and consistently interferes within my private life.”

“Why do you seem to enjoy it so much when I praise you?”

“No one says nice things about me John, but you. I enjoy abnormal occurrences.”

“Were you picked on as a kid? Being so smart.”

Sherlock hesitates, “Relentlessly.”

“Is that why...is that why you don’t like most people?”

“I don’t like most people because I don’t like myself.”

“I like you,” John says, “I like you a lot.”

Sherlock runs his hands over the bump, “It shows.”

“You don’t mind all these questions?” John asks suddenly.

“You could ask me anything in the world right now and I’d tell you the truth.”

John pauses. _Anything in the world. I’d tell you the truth._

“Do you...do you love me Sherlock?” John holds his breath as he waits for the answer.

_What have you done John? Did you have to ruin the moment? He doesn't like direct questions like this. He'll let you go again and without him you'll fall to pieces again and you'll--_

"Yes."

"What?" it slips out naturally, because he wasn't expecting a reply that fast. 

"There is only one unequivocal, accurate answer to your question." Sherlock says slowly,  "And that answer is yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV of that night up next.


	15. That Night: Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV of the night their son was conceived.

_**Sherlock** _

Sherlock remembered that night in two frames of mind. One, a consequence of his natural biological attraction to John’s body, under which view it was a glorious release, perhaps inevitable given their close proximity. After all, refusing an omega in heat was difficult, and given that it was his faithful blogger difficult gave way to impossible. Two, a unique occurrence propelled by his own confusion at John’s behavior by the pool. He had been curious, vastly curious about the intentions of the other man. _Why would he sacrifice himself for someone like me? Why?_ Sherlock just didn’t get it. It was maddening. In fact, by the time he came home that night he had been thinking about it all day.

He still couldn’t put a finger on it when he arrived. But John had the answer. He knew. So he was going to just swallow his pride and ask him. They were going to discuss it, like rational adults. As he was on the way home his phone buzzed. _John. No doubt a request for an item from Tesco. No time now. I have to get home. I have to know._ So he didn’t even read it.

When he went up the stairs he sensed something was off but he wasn’t exactly sure. And when he saw John his own mind began going haywire. _What’s this? What’s happening?_

He had considered very carefully exactly what he was going to say to John. Exactly how he was going to pose the question, but something was messing with him, something that made the words come out in a jumbled mess.

“Sherlock. I don’t think you understand--” _What kind of an answer is that? Of course I understand. I saw what you did. I think…_

“I do John. I do understand. For a second there I thought that you…” _He’s going into heat. I can’t focus because he’s going into heat. Right now. And I’m still in the flat. Move, Sherlock. Go. Go back downstairs._

But his feet stayed firmly planted on the floor.

“Sherlock I need your cock in me.” _I want to put my cock in him. I want to so badly. What is this? What is this want? No, Sherlock, you shouldn’t. You’ll both regret it. Why shouldn’t I? I want to. I want to be inside him. Inside John._

He remembers stammering something.

And then John spoke again. _Please. He’s saying please. He wants you to. And you want to. Just do it. Claim him. Bond him. Take him. No, I am stronger than that. No you’re not._

“You don’t want this--me…” _I know you don’t really want me. Reject me now. Reject me so I’ll have some chance of maintaining my self-control._

But John had already worked off his shirt, “Idiot. You. Want you, Sherlock. My alpha.” _My alpha._ The words went straight to his groin.

Sherlock grabbed John into his lap. Brought their faces close together. _Oh god. He smells...No Sherlock. If you really care for him you’ll fight it._

He said something then to John but he doesn’t remember what. It was his last defense. A weak whisper.

And then the omega was kissing him. _That feels good. Oh, that’s marvelous. There’s no going back now. Oh, John. What have you done? What are you doing...oh you are good._

Then something surged in him. Some instinct took over whose origin he didn’t know. A personality took over that Sherlock was utterly unfamiliar with. John sighed and moaned and easily submitted to the advances of this alpha that Sherlock felt himself becoming. _I am myself. Yet I am not myself. I need him. I need to be inside him. That’s where I should be._

He kissed John’s neck. _I should bond him. Why shouldn’t I bond him? We share a flat, I could share his heats. Doesn’t work like that Sherlock...But I need to be in him. He wants me to be. Don’t bond him. Don’t you dare bond him. Fine._

John asked to move to the bedroom _He’s enjoying this. John’s enjoying this. And so...and so am I…His scar...I’ve always wanted to see the scar...I need him naked...I need him naked and under me…_

He thinks he said as much.

“Next time...next time I’ll be naked for you…” _For me. Yes. Your mine. Only mine, tonight._

He carried John over to the bed and removed his own clothes, all the while staring at John. _My friend. He’s my friend and I’m going to fuck him. He’s asking yes...but would he ask if he wasn’t in heat...we both want it now...but will he want me when this is over?_

_He’s looking at me. He’s looking at me and wondering if he can take me. Stop thinking and fuck him. Good god Sherlock what are you waiting for?_

John begged him. John begged him even as he climbed over John and pressed against him. _He needs me to do this for him. I want to. But…_

“Red pants? Really?” Sherlock asked. _It’s such a John thing to do._

“You never know when it’s going to be a lucky day.” _And it’s not every day you fuck your best friend._

Sherlock could see how wet John was for him. He felt his own muscles impatient for release. _Do it. Just do it. Just take him._

“For you. Wet for you. My strong alpha. Need you. Need your babies.” John begged again. _Right now. For some reason. I really want him to have my babies too. Lots of them. I want him to get so big that he bursts. My strong alpha he says. Yes.  That’s what I am._

He slipped off those red pants and spread apart John’s legs. _I’ve never done this before but I know exactly what to do. He’s so ridiculously wet. He’s so beautiful...just lying here like this...in my bed...calling my name. No one says my name quite like he does. I need to be in him. Atleast once. Even if we both regret it the rest of our lives._

Sherlock pressed into John’s body slowly. Inching into that tight, hot space that accepted him far more easily than he had believed possible. It was pure pleasure. Pure, scintillating pleasure that blacked out all his thought as John contracted around him. _I’m inside him._

“Oh.” he remembers saying as thrust deeper, “Oh.” _There’s no other words._

John screamed the first time. The second time was easier. Seven times, Sherlock counted. Seven times before... _Don’t knot him. But I need to. I need to be deep inside him. It feels...but he might not even be on birth control. Unbonded. Low probab--_

He short circuited his mind a second time as he locked himself inside John. As he gripped him and kissed him and spilled his seed inside him and wondered if anything at all could feel as glorious as this. _We fit together._

Minutes passed but it felt like longer. They were joined and even when they were not John breathed against Sherlock’s chest. And then suddenly, like a rebooted computer, Sherlock’s mind came back online. _What have you done?_

“I love you.” John said. _No you don’t. You’re high from sex and you think that you want me and I’ve ruined...I’ve ruined everything…_

“It’s never felt...like this...only with you…” _Of course it was different with me. I’m not the one you want. I knew it. Why...why did I fuck you like that...my John…_

“How was that? How was it for you?” It was the last thing John asked. _How can I tell him? How can I tell him I was a virgin with nothing to compare it to?_

“For me?” Sherlock asked. _Only an idiot repeats the question._

“Sherlock.” _I’m sorry. I’m sorry I knotted you and spilled my seed in you and thrust into you so many times. I just had to. I wasn’t thinking...it felt…_

“Perhaps I should go.” _I should leave...leave before I do anything else...before I spread his legs again and ask him if I can…_

“Sherlock I never meant…” _I know. I know you never meant for this to happen. I know you didn’t want me to do this to you._

“It’s alright. I understand. We won’t talk about it.” _That way at least. I can still keep you. Maybe. As my friend._

Yet even as he grabbed his clothes from the floor and stalked off rather anti-climatically from the room he relived how it felt when he was inside John. _That was right._ When John had kissed him. _Oh. Oh._ He dressed himself in silence in the living room, picking up the shirt John had strewn on the floor earlier. _Now that I fucked him he’ll never see me the same. He’s never liked being an omega and now everytime he sees my face he’ll remember that he is. He’ll remember that I know it._


	16. The Country House: Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the advice of a doctor, Sherlock takes them out of the city.

**_John_ **

“I’m tired, Sherlock.” John says, collapsing on the couch, “They all say the same thing. There’s nothing you can do. It’s out of your control. Makes me wonder why we went at all.”

“Second one wasn’t bad, the specialist, he said some intriguing things actually,” Sherlock remarks.

“What did he say that was so intriguing?” John sits up.

“You probably didn’t catch it. He only mentioned it in passing.”

“Well as things were being probed into me, I was considerably distracted.” John points out, a tad bit annoyed.

“Nevertheless. Fascinating idea. It could help.” Sherlock goes on.

“What could help?” John leans further back on the sofa to better support his growing stomach.

“Leaving the city. You’ll be more relaxed. Fresh air. Less noise.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Wouldn’t you be...bored or something?”

“There are walls to shoot out in the country aren’t there, John?”

“I’m pregnant you can’t expose me to gunfire.” John smiles.

“He’ll pull through you know.” Sherlock says suddenly.

“How do you know?”

“It’s strong. Just like you, John.” Sherlock says, “I hope it’s just like you.”

“It’s funny. Whenever I imagine him he always looks like a baby version of you.” John admits. _Maybe I shouldn’t tell him that?_

“Let’s hope not. Little me was quite the trial.” Sherlock sits next to him and squeezes his hand, “You’re doing quite well given the circumstances.”

“That first night...I was…” John shakes his head, remembering his fear and paranoia. _If you hadn’t been there Sherlock..._

“I know.” 

***

“Do you think we should get one of those bumper stickers onto the back of this car that reads ‘Baby on Board’?” Sherlock jokes.

“It’s not even our car.” John says, laughing.

“Even so.” Sherlock gives a turn signal and enters the left lane.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away.”

“But where?” John demands.

“Surprise destination trips are supposed to be romantic.”

“Are you trying to be romantic?”

“For the past few months now we’ve been sharing a bed, you’re carrying our baby, and we’ve bickered like an old couple for years. We’re in a relationship whether we wanted to be or not and you want to skip out on all the fun parts?” Sherlock turns towards him briefly before resuming focus on the road.

“I shouldn’t be riding in the front seat, you know.”

“It’s a residential road. It’ll be fine. I know what’s best for my mate and child. Well, generally I know what’s best for everyone but you know what I mean. What I meant that is. Did I screw this one up?” Sherlock grips the wheel tighter.

“No, you’re an arrogant toerag sometimes but you care. I know you do.” _He said mate. And not that kind of mate. The kind you bond and have babies with and well we've already done the second part of that but I suppose its like getting a head start..._

“Took the wrong exit. I’ll have to double back.” Sherlock sighs.

“Genius, aren’t you?” John mocks.

“Wasn’t concentrating.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“You.”

“Do that a lot do you Sherlock?”

“You’re even more distracting nowadays now that there’s so much more of you.”

“You prat. You actual prat. You actually enjoy the fact that I’ve blown up like a balloon.”

“Well,” Sherlock eyes the GPS on his phone a minute before performing a U-turn, “It does discourage other suitors very efficiently.”

“I didn’t think you could get that possessive.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sherlock says as he accelerates rapidly.

“Careful,” John chides, “And I don’t know. Possessiveness is such a stereotypical alpha thing to do.”

“And I’m not a stereotypical alpha?” Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well you are. In some ways.”

“Do elaborate.” _Well this is embarrassing._

“Anatomically, I guess. And um...obviously biologically or this wouldn’t happen. But when it comes to behavior you’re not particularly domineering over me. You try to have your way all the time but that’s more childish than aggressive.”

“Fascinating. Do you feel an element of fear then among other alphas? They do form a greater percentage of the crime committing population.” Sherlock notes.

“I mean yeah, when you’re walking down a street alone and you’re an omega you do feel it. All the time. It’s just that you get used to it. And ever since I moved in with you…”

“What changed?” Sherlock inquires lightly.

“Well then I was with you, and I felt more comfortable than I had in years.”

“Many people misconstrued us as a bonded couple for years. You rarely corrected them.”

“It was something of a benefit that people thought that.” John explains, “And you never took advantage of the fact either. I was so close to you, all the time. I can’t imagine.”

“I always lusted after you, John.” Sherlock says matter-of-factly, “Didn’t I tell you?” _Yes but I still can’t believe it._

“Why did you never...before that night I mean?”

“You’re too important to be a conquest John.”

 _Wow._  John pauses for a second, “Thanks, Sherlock.”

John rolls down his window when he realizes Sherlock has pulled into a driveway. He glances at the mailbox. The name on the mailbox. _Mr. & Mrs. S. Holmes. His parents’ house. _

“Are they here too?” he turns to ask Sherlock.

“Not currently no. They travel a lot in their old age. Mycroft has a spare key he lent me. You’ll meet them eventually though. Our baby’s grandparents.” Sherlock goes around to his side and opens the door, “It’s a nice place. Quiet. Not too much traffic.”

John gets up and looks at the house. Blue shutters. Well kept gardens. Bird feeders. A rocking chair on the porch.

“You were expecting something else?” Sherlock guesses.

“It’s so...ordinary.” John can’t think of anything else to describe it.

“No gargoyles guarding the front? Trapdoor and a moat? Black spiked fence?” Sherlock rolls his eyes, “You really think I’m something out of this world don’t you? Ridiculous.”

“You really won’t be bored here?”

“I lived here for seventeen years, I think I can handle a few more months.”

“Get the luggage.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m pregnant. Get the luggage.”

“You really don’t have to prefix everything with ‘I’m pregnant’. I am completely aware.” Sherlock says as he opens the trunk and picks up the luggage, “What’d you pack in here, rocks? John I’m not a porter”

“I’m pregnant. You’re my porter.”

Sherlock makes a big show of panting and heaving the luggage before setting it down inside, “Light switch. Fan. There’s only one air conditioning unit and that’s in the bedroom. But it’s cool enough now, I think.”

“It wasn’t that heavy.” John punches him in the arm, “Seventeen years and no air conditioning.”

“Seventeen years, no air conditioning, and a live-in Mycroft. I should be a psychopath.”

“Sherlock. Are there baby pictures of you around this house?” John smiles mischievously.

“Unfortunately yes. Several.”

“And Mycroft?”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiles devilishly, “You won’t recognize him though.”

“Wish your mother was here. I could use some advice on giving birth to a Holmes baby.”

“Birthing’s the easy part I’ve heard. Holmes babies have a highly focused attention span and highly specified needs.”

“It’s a trait they carry through life is it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

John sits down on the sofa in the formal living room, “I still can’t believe I’m here.”

Sherlock sits down to join him and freezes at the words, “You don’t think I can love you.”

“I do. It’s just--”

“No. It’s alright, John. I’ll prove it to you.” Sherlock kisses him, “I’ll make it so obvious even an idiot like Anderson could figure it out.”

John leans in so naturally that it’s almost as if they’ve been doing this all along. Kissing and being close instead of dancing around each other all this time, “Then you must be stupider than Anderson for having taken so long.”

“I fully admit,” Sherlock says between kisses, “When it comes to you I’ve always been a bit of a moron.”

“At least you got it before I gave birth.”

“Now that would have been embarrassing. You pushing out my child and me wondering whether or not you really like me that way.”

“What if it had taken you till his first birthday party?”

“What if I had waited until our son had to tell us to get our heads out of our arses and be together?”

“Our son.” John stops.

“Our son,” Sherlock repeats, holding a hand to John’s, “Brought us together.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do Sherlock...if…”

“Be strong John. He needs you.”

“I need _you_.” John breaks down suddenly, “I’ve wanted...so long...are you ever going to--” _Mate with me. Make me and my child yours in the eyes of the world. Once and for all._

“Tonight, John. I’ll make you mine tonight.”


	17. The Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not their first time, but it sort of is.

**_Sherlock_ **

_He’s not used to this. Being taken care of. Especially by me._

Sherlock makes the tea and brings it to John in bed, who quickly suppresses that look of mild surprise he gets whenever Sherlock does something nice for him, “There’s nothing in the sugar this time. Technically there wasn’t last time either. But I thought there was. And that was a bit not good.”

“I trust you.” John says, sitting up and taking it. _Do you?_

“According to Mycroft you have a history of trust issues yet you put your faith in a self-avowed sociopath. Certain people might question your judgement.” Sherlock points out.

“That’s all a lie,” John sips, “Besides. You wouldn’t drug your own son.”

“When did you first find out you were an omega? I deduced early teens. But I can’t come up with much else. As always as people go your thoughts are slightly harder to guess than most.” Sherlock comments.

“You’re right. I was fourteen.” John offers. _He doesn’t elaborate._

“What bothers you about it?” Sherlock asks, “Being an omega.”

“Do we have to do this now, Sherlock?” John looks frustrated. _There’s something. But I have to know it._

“I have to know. I have to know exactly how you feel before I make you my mate. It’s not like a marriage. There is no divorce. A bond is almost always for life. Painful if dissolved, sometimes fatal. I don’t want to claim you if there’s something about that which will bother you. Maybe not now, but perhaps somewhere in the long run.” Sherlock explains quickly.

“Okay.” John says. _He’s making his thinking face. He’s considering it. What to say and what not to say._

“It’s just an expectation I guess. The omega stays at home and takes care of the kids. And he or she is supposed to have lots and lots of kids. The alpha gets to work and go out and do things. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with either of those roles mind you. If a person wants to be a homemaker and have a bunch of children and not really be allowed to go into society without their alpha then that’s great. Their prerogative. Live and let live. But I can’t. I can’t do that.” John sighs, “But at the same time. Before when I was fourteen I felt really strongly that I didn’t want to mate at all and let some alpha decide everything for me. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone having control over me and I was pretty riled up about it. Now though, being with you, I don’t think it’ll be like that.”

John put the tea down on the bedside table and lay back on the bed to face Sherlock, “It felt...it felt good with you. Jesus. I hope I’m making some sense. You’re not really saying anything.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give up your freedoms John. In fact, after the baby is born, when it’s old enough for daycare or something I was planning on starting up the work again. With you in your old position of course.”

“Did you ever...think of bonding with anyone before?”

“It’s too permanent a tie for my sort of life to be considered without significant attachment to the other person. I always imagined I’d stay single the rest of my life.”

“That’s not a very pretty picture.”

“Maybe it isn’t.”

“Hey,” John scoots closer to him, “I’m sorry. That kind of life would be bad. It’s you. It probably would have be interesting and daring and far more exciting than most people's’.”

“What’s sugar to a man that can’t taste?” Sherlock replies.

“You can taste it, Sherlock.”

“Only for you,” Sherlock says quite seriously, “Only for you and our child.”

“You really mean that.” that look of surprise again, briefer this time, in John’s eyes. _I really do like his eyes._

“If I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t say it out loud.” Sherlock says, “Obvious.”

“So...um…” John trails off. _He’s nervous about this. About the sex. It’s traditional to bond and have sex. But why would he be nervous? Last time he was quite energetic. Ah, right. Last time he was in heat. Now he has his entire brain online to give him needlessly worries._

“It’s me, John,” Sherlock says, kissing him, “It’s just me.” _Tell your brain to stop being an idiot._

John visibly relaxes under Sherlock’s touch, grabbing at him under the blankets until their pressed almost chest-to-chest.

Sherlock kisses him slowly, a deliberate contrast to the fevered desperation of the heat. _I don’t want to see that surprise on your face again. Ever. Ever again. I’d do anything for you and you’ll know it._

As he kisses him he works the first button of John’s shirt, and he notices John tensing under him.

“Sherlock.” John stops, breathing hard. _I can’t be rough with him. Not tonight._

“Sherlock you should know...” _It’s his body. It looks different now. It’s probably stretched in places and he’s gained weight and he’s afraid I won’t like it. Idiot. My idiot._

“Doesn’t matter,” Sherlock says, “John. John look at me.”

Sherlock leans down slightly so they’re eye level and whispers, “If anything. Fucking you while you’re carrying our baby is a massive turn-on.”

John snickers at that. Sherlock laughs too.

“I was expecting...I was expecting you to say something annoying like ‘you’re still gorgeous to me’ or something. But you…this isn’t a kink is it?”

“No think of sex with you as Ben & Jerry’s belgian dark chocolate ice cream. Your  being pregnant is just a cherry on top. It’s not really required but appreciated when available. Aesthetically.”

“Are you going to hold the ice cream incident over me forever, Sherlock?” John smiles.

“Yes, I’m going to hold it over you for a real amount of time approaching the achievable equivalent of forever.”

“I...I don’t even know why I’m so nervous all of a sudden...I’m sorry...I just…”

“If anything I should be the one feeling weird. Do you know how many times my parents had sex in this bed?” Sherlock points out.

John laughs again. _I really like the sound of his laugh._

“Besides,” Sherlock says, “You are still gorgeous to me.”

At these words John throws his arms around his neck, locking them in a tight embrace under the covers. As tight as the baby between them will allow anyway.

“I told you I’d find it annoying, but you said it anyway, prat,” John says quietly as he breathes against Sherlock’s neck. _I love him._

“You were expecting me to say it mockingly. I however was completely serious.”

“I just don’t want you to change your mind.”

“I’m not the type of person that’s good at saying I love you, John. I simply don’t have enough practice. I haven’t even heard it said it to me that many times. There’s too little data for me to be any good. Just this way, I could show you. And maybe then you would feel inclined to believe me.”

“I love you Sherlock.” John says so quietly that it’s almost drowned out by the crickets chirping outside and the soft wind coming in from the open window.

Sherlock stops breathing for a second. His mind jerks to a halt to process it.

Then he angles away from John slightly to kiss him again, their noses bumping before they find a way in which Sherlock doesn’t need to compensate for the height mismatch.

They kiss awkwardly for a few minutes. John accidentally pulling on Sherlock’s hair when he reaches for it. Sherlock kicking off the blankets because it’s too hot and accidentally pushing his foot into John’s. All of these things were fairly streamlined in the fever of the heat, Sherlock thinks. And he is still a virgin so much so that his natural instincts to lead give way to John’s comparative skill. So that in the end the caressing and the suggestion and then more than suggestion of tongue, and what Sherlock believes is classified as snogging, is more a game of equals. _Perhaps this time. This first time since the heat. That’s for the best._

This time when Sherlock undresses John the other man doesn’t resist. If it wasn’t a full moon night Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to see it at all. But the white light shows him the places where John’s skin has stretched to support the rounded arc of his stomach. It’s more obvious that he’s gained a little weight almost everywhere when he’s naked. He’s not fat, not really, just slightly pudgier and then inflated in the stomach area in a way that makes Sherlock’s heart melt, a sensation he hadn’t believed possible. _That bulge is our child._

John blushes just slightly as Sherlock eases off John's shirt. John looks for Sherlock’s reaction as Sherlock tugs down John's trousers. Gently slides off his pants. John looks for his reaction even as he himself is reaching for Sherlock’s clothes. Cautiously. Carefully. Not like he did the night of the heat. He’s unbelievably conscious of Sherlock’s hands on his body, not like that day in the doctor’s office. _But then that day my eyes were closed_.

"My parents are going to kill me." Sherlock remarks jokingly.

"Why?"

"They're away for a few weeks and I have a stark naked omega with me in their bed. That's like teenage rebellion more than a decade late."

John laughs.  _He's always more relaxed when I make it laugh. And I'm addicted to the sound._

Sherlock kisses the bump, slowly deliberately. He kisses up John’s body from his stomach to his neck. He fondles John’s cock until John flushes and ruts against him. _How’s that for a reaction John?_

There’s confidence in John’s hands now. There’s a bit more daring in him as he kisses Sherlock even as he works off his clothes. _He’s not worried now._

There’s lubricant in the bedside table’s drawers and John flips over so his back is facing Sherlock. He gasps as Sherlock works in one finger, then two, and only then does he ask, “Are you...are you going to bite me now?”

“Yes.” Sherlock says, and this time when he enters John he strokes John’s belly with his right hand, and John doesn’t scream, but lets out a moan that spontaneously generates a whole new room in Sherlock’s mind palace.

Sherlock goes in slowly, and even so he notes that John is still the slightest bit tired from the snogging. He feels John’s arse contracting around him, he feels his own tension and mental conflict and strain seep out all at once as he buries himself deep inside John. And it’s a turn-on, it’s such a turn on when his mind tells him that he’s spilling his seed in the body of the man who’s carrying his son.

Whether John comes just slightly after of just slightly before the bite Sherlock is unsure. His mental chronometers, he notes, are just slightly lower in precision when he’s experiencing sensory overload. Which is arguably a way to clinical term for the sheer bliss he feels as he comes again and again inside John. After a few gentle thrusts back and forth, Sherlock is knotting him. And he gives it a minute, possibly a minute and a half, for them to be connected, just as they should be.

He brushes his lips against John’s just once, looking in his eyes, and then seeing the slightest hint of a nod. _He wants this. He wants this as much as I do._ He delicately kisses the intended place once, just before he puts his teeth to John’s exposed neck and draws blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this technically should be Country House Pt.2 but I think its better separate and more things will happen at the house anyway...so thats my spiel...bye!


	18. The Country House: Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**_John_ **

It’s morning and it’s warm, and when he first begins to wake--because that damn idiot Sherlock didn’t draw the curtains all the way and a bright beam of light is piercing his eyelid--he moves and realizes he’s turning not against a mattress but against the solid body of aforesaid damn idiot Sherlock Holmes. He takes a breath, and it’s the same as Sherlock’s always smelled except now a sensation of calm contentment surges through him, and it’s obvious why. _He’s my mate. I mated with Sherlock. Sherlock mated with me. Sherlock and I are mated. Oh my god. This is real._

He feels it all anew. Sherlock's teeth against his skin. Sherlock's cock inside him. Sherlock kissing up his swollen belly. Sherlock gently caressing his naked skin. The way Sherlock looked at him.  _Oh my god_.

He opens his eyes and Sherlock is looking right back at him, looking undeniably smug about this whole affair, he smiles back, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Sherlock points out in that deep baritone voice.

“I’ve never seen you this puffed up, and that’s saying something.” John sits up and stretches.

“Mated, baby on the way, and my parents thought nothing good would ever come of me.” Sherlock says, that smug expression still on his face, “And now wherever we go. Everyone will see. You’re mine John Watson.”

 

At this John practically pushes him back down against the mattress to kiss him, partly in punishment for the smugness and partly because _you’re mine John Watson_ was the exact right thing to say.

 

Sherlock seems surprised, “Isn’t it a bit early for kissing?”

“Sherlock,” John says seriously, “It’s very important that you know this. It is never too early for kissing.”

Sherlock reaches over to touch his neck, fingering the bruise left by his bite, “Didn’t ask you then. Did it hurt?”

_He looks guilty. He cares for me so much, so much I didn’t even realize it._

“It’s exactly what I wanted.” John says. _He looks relieved now._

 

Just then the phone on the bedside table rings, and Sherlock sighs, rolls his eyes and picks it up, “Sherlock Holmes.”

John lays back on the bed, still a bit tired from the exertion of last night. _He was so gentle with me. I didn’t think he could be so gentle_. Moments pass, and John is drifting back to sleep when suddenly Sherlock turns to him sheepishly.

“That was your mother,” Sherlock says, still holding the phone.

“My mother…” John trails off. _I hadn’t told her I was pregnant. Please god tell me you didn’t tell her._

“I may have told her how far along you are--I honestly had no idea…” Sherlock says seriously.

“Just give it here,” John moves over to take the phone, and is basically sitting on Sherlock in an effort to not overstretch the phone cord as his crazy mother yells at him from miles away.

“I was going to tell you...I swear...next on my list…” John tries to cut in, leaning back against Sherlock as the other man absentmindedly draws patterns on his stomach with his finger.

“Yes of course we’re bonded!” John snaps.

“Well I’ll invite you down when the baby’s born...it’s a boy…” John explains.

When he can finally put the phone down Sherlock bursts out laughing.

“What?” John swivels his neck to give him a reproachful look.

“Of course we’re bonded...John we only bonded last night...you said that as if we bonded ages ago.” Sherlock snickers.

“Trick to a good lie. You have to believe it.” John remarks, “That’s something you told me. And well. If it counts for anything you’ve been acting like a bondmate would towards me and this baby for the longest time.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Sherlock kisses his neck.

“Just in case...just in case you never bonded with me. She has a thing. Where she thinks that’s wrong and I didn’t want to deal with the stress while I was pregnant. It’s very important to her.” John asserts.

“Like it was very important to you.”

“Yeah.” _No sense in lying about it now._

“Your scent was tantalizing before but now it’s heavenly. Even the ambrosia of the gods couldn’t smell like your skin John.” Sherlock whispers in his ear.

“I’m honestly too tired to have sex again just yet.” John confesses.

“Who says I want to have sex?” Sherlock kisses his shoulder.

“I’m not a master of deduction...but I think I’m reading the signs.”

“Who says I don’t just want to kiss you like this?” Sherlock kisses the back of his neck, then down his arm.

“Seems a rather benign activity compared to last night.” John says. _But that still feels so good._

“And you’re hungry.”

“Hey, I’m eating for two people.”

“One person and a fetus.”

“I’m going to get dressed.” John gets up.

“Very well. I shall do the same. And I’ll see about some breakfast for you.”

“Damn right you will. My alpha can and will provide for all my needs.”

“Really I thought it was the other way around?”

“No it’s not.”

“Why are you walking funny?” _Um let’s see. Can’t have anything to do with carrying your baby and the bonding sex last night..._

“Shut up.”

“Try not to wear a shirt with any sort of collar.” _He wants to see it all day. The mark he made on me._

“Yes because the stomach wasn’t enough proof, and now the bite…” John laughs, “What next do you want me to tattoo property of Sherlock Holmes on my arse?”

“I’m considering it.”


	19. The Country House: Pt.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go out on a date. Coffee is a must.

**_Sherlock_ **

“Do you want to have coffee?” Sherlock asks at around midday. _That’s how Molly asked me, that time she wanted to have a date and I didn’t realize it right then._

“Um...okay.” John says, “Do you? Should I make it?”

“I meant. Should we go and get coffee? Together.” Sherlock clarifies. _This is tedious. Why doesn’t he understand?_

“Are you…asking me out?” John asks.

“Good of you to notice.”

“No it’s just. Well it’s so backward isn’t it? Usually people date, then they bond then they get pregnant…” John laughs, “Oh this is weird.”

“If you feel that way. I certainly won’t force it on you.” _Idiotic idea Sherlock. What got into you?_

“No if you want to take me out I’m all yours.” John says quickly.

“I’ve never done this before,” Sherlock confesses suddenly.

“You’d never had sex before and you were pretty incredible at that.”

“Instinct. This...this isn’t.”

“Think about it this way...the whole objective of dating is to court someone. Get someone to like you if you like them. You’ve already won.” John rationalizes. _He thinks I’ll like the logic._

“So dating is like chess?”

"Yeah. Sort of."

"And I am in fact winning?"

“Most people check first. But the real masters can go right to checkmate.” _Checkmate? I got him pregnant without bonding him. He is technically right_.

“After the baby’s born, I thought we might not have time for this.” Sherlock explains, “Hence. We should enjoy ourselves now.”

“Why, Sherlock...all of this?”

"I find it necessary."

“But this...this stuff really doesn’t interest you.”

“My mate interests me.” _My mate. I love it so much I don't want to admit it. Just hearing it from him. My alpha. After all this time._

“Hold on...do you just want to go out somewhere in public so people can see the bond bite?”

Sherlock shrugs, but smiles, “Added bonus.”

***

**_John_ **

“What do people do then? On first dates?” Sherlock sips his coffee nervously. _He’s clueless. He’s utterly clueless._

“Not really our first. If you think about it we did sort of date before. Angelo’s was our first. After I was pregnant even we went out a few times.” John points out.

“Those weren’t dates you knew as dates. This is.” Sherlock corrects him.

“They get to know each other, I guess. They can go see interesting stuff.”

“What stuff? What do they ask about each other?”

“The cinema. Museums. Um. They can go see a play. They ask about where the other person is from. Where they work. Their hobbies.”

“The things you mentioned are rarely ever too diverting. The information I can easily deduce.” Sherlock ponders, “Next.”

“There’s still things we don’t know about each other.”

“Nothing as mundane as work habits and place of origin.” Sherlock counters.

“You can’t ask a person for their deepest secrets on the first date.” John says, “It’s just not done.”

“You’re my mate. You are mine. Your deepest secrets are yours. Therefore your deepest secrets are mine. Transitive property.” Sherlock explains. _He is really quite something._

“That logic works the other way too you know.” John informs him.

Sherlock shrugs as if to say ask away.

“What’s your favorite flower?” John asks.

“My favorite flower? John I was expecting a question of more caliber.”

“I know you were,” John smiles smugly, “But I want the small stuff. Don’t you have that saying that the little things are infinitely the most important?”

“I have said that on occasion. But I certainly don’t have a favorite flower.”

“What is it, Sherlock?” John presses on.

“Veratrum nigrum,” Sherlock answers, “The flowers can cause cardiac arrest if ingested. I make it a habit to know most European poisonous plant life.”

“Nice try.”

“I like lilacs. Calming color. Improves the focus. The house has some in the garden in the back. Mother liked them for ornamental purposes. I’ve planted some that you see around the house. She used to use Mycroft and I when she thought we were spending too much time indoors."

“Can you deduce mine?”

“Course I can,” Sherlock scoffs.

“Go ahead then.”

“Rose.” _He’s right. Out of all the flowers. How is he right?_

“How--?”

“You’re a person meant for love. It’s a beautiful flower, you’re attracted to things you find beautiful, always have been. You don’t mind the thorns. This isn’t a deduction I made just by looking at you, it’s one that’s obvious. If you love a man like me then this has to be your favorite flower.” Sherlock says matter-of-factly.

“A man like you?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You don’t talk about him like that,” John says fiercely, “About my alpha. My baby’s father. He’s one in a thousand. One in tens of thousands. You understand?"

Sherlock blushes, “Any more questions then?”

"What's your favorite color?" John asks.

Sherlock sighs dramatically, "Seriously, John? My favorite color? Why does it even matter?"

"Answer me. All your secrets are mine." John taunts.

"Red. Color of blood."

"Favorite animal?"

"Now you're just being tedious. Why can't I ask a question?"

"Go ahead. I thought you could just deduce everything from a glance?"

"Why do you dislike the name Hamish?"

"There is nothing more annoying than being named after two of your alpha ancestors. Hamish was my father's grandfather. John was my mother's father. Both alphas. It's like the world was rooting for me to present as an alpha and I let them down."

"I rather like the way that turned out." Sherlock offers, "But you're okay with John?"

"I think that one suits me. I don't look like a Hamish do I?"

"Not at all."

"Good." John laughs, "You look like a Sherlock."

"You're just saying that because I am Sherlock. The only one you've ever met. You associate nothing else with this name than me." Sherlock explains.

"It's not just that," John argues, "Soft in the beginning hard at the end."

"Was that an innuendo? It was quite a bad one if it was."

"No let me finish. It's unusual. It's sharp. Quite satisfying to have in your mouth."

"Now that was definitely an innuendo." Sherlock smirks.

"Do you alphas ever stop thinking about sex?" John asks a bit more loudly than he had intended.

"I never thought about sex this much until I met you." Sherlock points out, "You want to go now?"

“Yeah,” John reaches for Sherlock’s hand to help him get up, “Thanks.”

As they throw their empty cups away in the trash receptacle and go out the door, John notices that Sherlock has still not let go of his hand. In the street he pulls John closer to him. _I’m walking on the inside. Away from the traffic._ Sherlock walks him over to the passenger side and helps him in. Sherlock pulls the seatbelt over John’s stomach and lengthens it before he buckles it. When he’s sitting in the driver’s seat he’s light on all the speed bumps, glancing at John everytime after he makes an acute turn.

“You alright?” Sherlock asks once.

Another time, as another car comes into their lane and rapidly cuts them off, making Sherlock slam his foot on the brakes, John notices Sherlock’s left hand leaves the steering wheel to come in front of him, as if to hold him back had he been thrust any further forward.

“You alright?” he asks again.

_My rose. You’re right. You’re my thorny rose._

Then after they’re in the driveway at home and Sherlock’s holding the door open to the passenger side John’s expression must catch him off-guard, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Sherlock takes his hand again and is about to take him back inside when John stops him.

“What is it?”

“Something that sometimes happens after good dates.”

"Sex?" Sherlock asks hopefully.

"Good guess but no."

John pins him against the car and leans in to kiss him. He likes how Sherlock has a hand in his hair and a hand on that bump. He likes the smell of Sherlock. He likes the friction between them. Sherlock's sweat in the sunlight.

When they’re finally ready to go back inside, John is more content with the world than he has ever been. He has faith, all of a sudden, that everything, including his baby, will be alright. _He’s here now. My mate. He took me. He bit me. He’s so in love with me I can’t believe I didn’t see it._

“It’s not so bad,” John says, “Doing it backward.”

“Not bad at all.”

“I even think, now, I didn’t think it before, but I think our baby will make it. He’s a fighter. I know he is.”

“I knew it. I knew it last night when I was inside you. I remembered the last time. Last time when the chances were close to nil. You still managed to conceive our child. He was meant to be. He’s always beaten the odds from the very beginning.”

“If he was meant to be then so was this. Us. It's obvious."

"That's my word."

"You're mine. Your word. My word. Transitive property."

"Damn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of it doesn't even happen at the house...but eh, who's counting...?


	20. The Country House: Pt.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John reflect upon being bonded.

**_Sherlock_ **

Being mated to John has finally removed any regard for personal space the two of them ever had, Sherlock realizes. _However, I find that I do not care._ He likes that John seems to find some sort of security by keeping close to him when they’re out. He likes that when they’re in bed together he can wordlessly wrap around John from behind and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and sometimes dirty things that Sherlock knows would make him blush. He loves that feeling, more intimate than sex, when he and John are quietly kissing and they stop when they realize the baby’s kicking and suddenly John’s sitting in his lap, his hand on John’s resting underneath John’s shirt, and thoughts of _my mate_ and _my son_ convince him that he has everything in the world.

Yet bond or not, the realities of John’s pregnancy have stayed the same. At times he’s irritable for no reason. He’s frequently too hot and then too cold and at night Sherlock finds himself adjusting the level of the ceiling fan, removing covers off the bed then putting them on and through it all John is either sweating or shivering and he’s worried about the baby and in the end the only temperature that feels right is no covers and the fan on full blast tempered only by Sherlock’s body heat.

Sherlock has never seen John traverse his entire emotional range in such short periods of time. One moment he’s demanding that they go out because he’s been cooped up inside for so long and the next he’s complaining because they’re out now and he’s tired and he’s pregnant and this is just like Sherlock. One moment they’re joking around and laughing and the next moment John’s hysterical because what if the baby’s born with Sherlock’s lips and John's nose and “separately those two things are fine but together they’re just weird” and Sherlock figures out just then that for all the alpha posturing and popular culture stereotypes it really is the omega that runs the show. “I’m sure our baby will be adequately attractive John” is what he says along with “Just relax”. He could have probably done without the second part however, as he gets one of John’s comebacks in return, “Easy for you to say. You’re not pregnant.”

It seems nowadays that Sherlock just can’t argue with him. All the smart comebacks he ever had in the past die on the tip of his tongue. _I must be smitten to be so weak._   

But he’s more than smitten. He’s obsessed. And he wonders whether all bonded couples are like this in the beginning. He can’t get enough of John, and maybe he does have a pregnancy kink, or maybe it’s just John and who really knows or cares, but every chance he gets to explore the other man’s body, to breathe in his scent or to simply pull him into his arms and hold him there he takes it. _Maybe I just do it because I finally can._

 

“What does it feel like?” Sherlock asks one day, “Carrying the baby.”

“Damn heavy. I hate everything I eat practically sometimes. Other times I’m so hungry I could faint. I look like a pumpkin, but what else is new?” John says.

“That could do,” Sherlock says jokingly, “If you insist that I’m your rose then you could certainly be my pumpkin.”

“Shut up.” John laughs, “You just like saying that I’m yours don’t you?”

_Am I that obvious?_

“Facts are all I have John. Without them I’m just a man in a funny hat and a pumpkin shaped omega.”

John laughs again. _I’d do anything to keep you laughing._

“Say it.” Sherlock demands.

John looks straight at him, “I’m yours.”

Chemical defects be damned, Sherlock kisses him.

***

**_John_ **

It should be stranger, it really should, being bonded to your best friend. But somehow he thinks they crossed that threshold after he carried around said best friend's child for the better part of the year, and maybe now they’re just enjoying the good part, the falling for each other part they missed out on in the first place.

Sherlock is an extremely considerate lover. _Why is that so surprising?_ He knows when John’s in the mood. When he isn’t. He never seems to get tired of spooning him until they fall asleep and if John turns around into his arms and kisses him he doesn’t assume he’s going to get lucky until John practically tells him so, either verbally or by dragging Sherlock’s hand down into his pants or around to the cleft of his arse, or by revealing that he did in fact go to bed naked.

He’s made a mental note of things that he never imagined that he would say. But now that he’s bonded says on a regular basis, either because it seems natural to him or Sherlock gets off on it. _My alpha. Take me again like you did when you got me with child. I’m yours._

He needs Sherlock in ways he had never expected. Every time he snaps, Sherlock takes it. Every time he asks for something, for water in the middle of the night or for Sherlock to massage his aching feet, Sherlock just does it. _He’ll do anything for me. My alpha._

Sherlock comforts him like only a bondmate can. Once he wakes up at night and he’s dreamed that the baby won’t make it and no matter how long Sherlock rubs his back and quietly rationalizes why it’s just a dream and it can’t possibly matter and obviously, obviously the baby will be okay it doesn’t help. He isn’t entirely sure what Sherlock is doing when he slips down his pants and he’s not quite sure he has words to describe what it feels like when Sherlock licks around the edges of his hole and when he stops and pushes in his cock and knots him it’s suddenly alright. With Sherlock’s knot holding them together it’s not lust and it’s not even the gentle, passionate sex of their bonding but the kind of security and raw feeling that somehow feels like it was missing all this while. It should feel strange, doing that with your best friend. But it doesn’t. _Doesn’t feel strange at all._

Sherlock’s kisses feel like home, John realizes. All this time he’s been here in this country house he hasn’t missed Baker Street all that much at all. As dear as it is to them both it’s ultimately just a place. _It’s not Baker Street that’s home. It’s him. It’s always been him_.

When they’re quietly kissing the next morning just because, John feels the baby kick. Sherlock can tell from the look in his eyes, and as Sherlock sits back on the bed he pulls John into his lap. John takes Sherlock hand and places it under his shirt to feel it kick again.

“Maybe he’s into rugby like you were John.” Sherlock says, “With all this kicking.”

“Naah.” John smiles, “I want him to be a consulting detective.”


	21. The Things They Do For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock talk things out before they go to the Doctor's again to see if everything's alright.

**_Sherlock_ **

“Everything hurts, Sherlock.” John groans. _Not this again_.

“John nothing’s going to happen...just relax, let’s see...shall we...shall we talk?” Sherlock searches desperately for a solution.

“No, I...too sick...Sherlock.”

“What should I do?” Sherlock says. _How can I possibly help him?_

John looks as if he’s about to say something but then closes his mouth. _He doesn’t want to ask me for it._

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“My mother used to sing to me when I felt sick.” John admits sheepishly, the pain evident in his eyes and in the way he’s clutching at his stomach.

“I...I don’t sing.” Sherlock says stupidly.

“That’s why I didn’t ask,” John says as he grimaces.

“What kinds of songs?”

“Any kind. Whatever was in her head...that day…” John looks as if he’s getting a bit faint so Sherlock readjusts them on the bed so John’s head is resting in his lap.

“I don’t have a very nice singing voice, John. I really must warn you.”

“I’m not expecting Frank Sinatra.” John manages, clutching at Sherlock’s leg and squeezing.

“Are you still in pain?” Sherlock pats John’s head, knowing the answer to his own question.

“No,” John smiles, “I could run a marathon. Deploy to Afghanistan right now. Leave for a case with you.”

“I’m sure.” Sherlock swallows. _I don’t know any recent songs. John likes rock. I don’t know any of that. I don’t know any Beatles songs, those were popular. I don’t listen to any pop. Nursery rhymes then? That’s pitiful. But it’ll have to do._

“Frere jacques, Frere jaceqes, dormez-vous?” Sherlock says in a way that’s barely sing-songy.

John smirks, “You got to do better than that.”

“We’re grown men. I-I can’t sing nursery rhymes any other way,” Sherlock huffs.

“You’re going to sing it to the baby like that? As if you were narrating a funeral?”

“My son will listen to classical music. Develop an affinity from an early age.” Sherlock mutters.

John tenses in his lap. _It’s getting worse. Doctor said it was nothing to worry about. But I don’t like it._

“Sonnez les mattines, sonnez les mattines...Ding ding dong. Ding ding dong.” Sherlock tries to say cheerily.

“Wasn’t half bad,” John mumbles.

“I’m fluent in French, it should be good.”

“You’re fluent in French?” John looks up at him. _I love his face. That nose._

“I am not saying things for you simply for the novelty.” Sherlock scoffs.

“Sherlock, speak French would you?”

“No.”

“Sherlock, I’m having your baby, the least you could do would be to tell me you love me for it in French.”

“Les choses que je fais pour l'amour.” Sherlock says.

“What does that mean?”

“The things I do for love.”

***

**_John_ **

When John wakes up his head is still in Sherlock’s lap, only now the light is no longer streaming in through the bedroom window, he notices the blankets have been brought over and he’s under them--though he wonders how Sherlock managed this without him knowing--and Sherlock is still patting his head in that slow, lilting way that lulled him to sleep.

“I called the Doctor,” Sherlock says as he feels John stirring, “She says the pains are normal for omegas having their first. You have no cause for concern.”

“You made a call? How’d I not hear it?”

Sherlock laughs, “You’re a remarkably heavy sleeper when you’re pregnant.”

“Sherlock how many more languages can you speak?”

“Italian, Spanish, Swedish, German, limited Russian.”

“I took a little Spanish in school.” John remembers. _I hated it._ _Verb conjugations and all._

“With equal proficiency as your clarinet?”

“Around the same yeah, I don’t recall a single word.” John tells him, sitting up.

Sherlock’s hands are on him, feeling for a temperature, for sweat, for tension, for pain.

“I’m the doctor, not you.” John reminds him.

“I’m the alpha, not you.” Sherlock kisses him on the nose.

“He’s a troublemaker your son.” John tells him, “And he hasn’t even been born yet.”

“So when he causes trouble he’s my son and when he’s behaving and kicking and being good he’s your son. I see how it is.”

“Just the way it should be.”

 

By the time they go for their next appointment the pains have stopped. The morning of John wakes up with a headache, having been up half the night before. He doesn’t say anything to Sherlock, not wanting to break down yet again, not after they’ve come so far. _I love it when he cares for me like that. When he spoons me at night, or takes me in his arms or holds me in his lap or touches my bump. I love it when he knots me, and he does it almost every time. But this feels like rejecting everything I’ve ever been. I need to be strong myself. I need to get a grip for my son._ In the shower he relishes the feel of the hot water as he breaks down the feeling of dread, wondering about his son for the millionth time. When he steps out and gets dressed Sherlock is watching him. Sherlock has always been able to guess what John’s done, but after being bonded the connection is an emotional one.

 

“John, please, you can tell me--”

“I don’t...I need you to love me so much I feel guilty about it...I feel weak sometimes.”

John can still remember what the kids used to say about omegas. _Babymaker! Babymaker! Weakling! Go find yourself an alpha, Watson._

“You think I’m taking care of you?” Sherlock asks.

“Of course you are.” _I’ve never been more dependant in my life. I need you to bring me things to eat in bed. I need you to fall asleep. I need your kisses, your scent, your proximity._

“It’s normal John for an omega to lose some energy the closer they come to their due date. It doesn’t mean you’re getting any weaker. You will still find it in you to birth our son.” Sherlock continues, “And anyway...if it matters to you, which on some level it may...you’re the one that’s taking care of me.”

_What?_

Sherlock takes him in arms right then and damn it if that isn’t exactly what calms him down. Sherlock’s breath in his ear. Sherlock’s smell. Sherlock in all of his senses. _My mate. My alpha. Here with me. Safe. Oh. That’s good._

“I am an obnoxious man John,” Sherlock says, rubbing his back, “I hardly ever allowed myself to believe that I would ever be someone’s alpha, let alone that of a man like you. I did not give myself the luxury of believing that someone else would warm my bed at night and carry my babies. I did not even think any omega would want me to share a heat. I was lonely.”

“Then...that night…” _Oh, Sherlock._

“I was...lonely.” _It’s difficult for him to say but he says it for me._

“Not anymore.”

“I like it John,” Sherlock says quietly, as if wondering if it’s the right thing to say, “I like how you cling to me.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock kisses him softly.

“Sherlock, the appointment--”

“Let me have this John. I need to take care of you just as much as you need to be taken care of. It’s in my blood. We were made for each other.” Sherlock says almost feverishly.

“Sherlock…” John begins to say, “I don’t know what I’m going to do if…”

“John, I know in my heart that it will be alright. But if anything should happen. I...once you’ve had time...we could try for a baby again.” Sherlock says slowly.

“It’s not that easy. It’s not just trying again until you get it right, Sherlock.” John snaps.

“I didn’t mean it like that John,” Sherlock explains, “I only meant that whatever happens I want this with you.”

“Right, sorry...mood swings.”

“You’ve had worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, you deserve everything from me, John.”

“Will you speak French to me when we’re having sex?” John asks softly.

“Je t'aime plus que tu ne le sauras jamais.” _His voice is sex in itself._

“That sounded lovely. Whatever it was.”

“You ready to go yet?” Sherlock asks, drawing away a little.

“No...I...just a moment longer...I want…” John says as he snuggles closer again, “I don’t know how I lived with you for so long without this.”

“It was hell for us both. Thank god you managed to get pregnant.”

“Apparently...it was easier for you to--what’s the phrase---knock me up rather than tell me you were in love with me.”

“Conversely it was easier for you to be knocked up rather than tell me you were in love with me.”

“That’s funny. Do you think one day we should tell him he got us together?”

“If he’s going to be a detective he can figure it out.” Sherlock smiles as John pulls away by himself and offers him a hand to get up.

John takes it, “In a hurry are you?”

“Course. This time I get to look at you when you strip.”

“Alphas and sex. There’s something.” John sighs, “You’ve seen everything a dozen times.”

“John I could see everything a million times and still want to fuck you senseless on the examining table.”

“You’re a bad man. You are. It’s a hospital.” John laughs.

“You want me to.” Sherlock whispers into his ear conspiratorially, “Right there when she could come back any second.”

“Sherlock, you can control yourself.”

“Seeing your bare arse, your tight little hole, your cock that fits right in my hand, I don’t think so.” Sherlock says as John reddens.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what you say when I knot you.”

“There’s-there’s another thing,” John stutters, “Last time you told her you can do it 100% of the time. And now it’s what--”

“64% roughly. It’s harder when you’re so pumpkin like, I don’t want to be too forceful. And the other part I suppose is practice.”

John gulps, “Practice?”

“You and I, John. Again. And again. And again. Would you like that?” Sherlock says, kissing John between every ‘again’.

John nods shakily.

“Good. Now let’s go.”

“Sherlock...thanks.”

“What for?”

“For distracting me.”

A look of understanding passes between them but Sherlock jokes anyway, “I did not intend to distract you...I genuinely want to have as much intercourse with you as humanly possible and wished to seek your compliance.”

John rewards him with a mock sigh, “The things I do for love.”


	22. The Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discover the fate of the baby. And prepare to entertain a visitor at Baker Street.

**_Sherlock_ **

As soon as the doctor’s gone from the room, Sherlock grabs John, dips him and kisses him.

“What are you doing?” John laughs.

“You had that worried look on your face. Hate that.” Sherlock presses him up against the omega anatomy posters on the wall and kisses him again.

“Sherlock--I--I actually have to change now.”

“That can wait.” Sherlock kisses down the exposed portion of his neck as John sighs, he kisses the bond bite that he made not that long ago before stepping away.  _I love kissing you there. Where I claimed you._

“We shouldn’t snog.” John giggles, “It’s a public facility.”

“John you agreed to be my mate. And therefore tacitly agreed to letting me have my way with you whenever and wherever I find convenient.”

“Was there a formal agreement? Did I sign something?” John jokes as he unbuttons his shirt.

Sherlock sits down, “I don’t know. Would you consider it a formal setting if we’re having sex in my parent’s bedroom?”

“Informal.” John says as he discards his shirt and pulls down his trousers, “You git. You’re just enjoying the show aren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Hardly seems fair. You get most of the fun in the beginning when you get me pregnant. Then I’m the one that swells up like a balloon, throws up half my insides over three months, waddles around like a pumpkin the next few. And that’s not even counting the birthing part of it.”

“John if I could carry it for you I certainly would.”

“No you wouldn’t.” John scoffs. 

“Yeah I wouldn’t. Looks horridly uncomfortable. Not to mention how irrational you can act.” Sherlock gets up as John removes his pants, standing completely naked before him.

“I’m irrational? Me?”

“Yes you.” Sherlock maneuvers them so they’re facing the room’s full-length mirror, “What do you see, John?”

“Naked pumpkin and a black street lamp?”  _So I'm the street lamp. Interesting._

“Perfectly sound analysis but I was hoping you’d go a bit deeper.” Sherlock stands pressed behind him and kisses the bond bite again.

John takes his hand and places it on his stomach, “Do we see a mad consulting detective and the blogger he got pregnant? Which reminds me I have to update the blog about this.”

“What are you even going to say? Footnote when you type up the next case? Oh Sherlock’s brilliant and he was so smart when he solved this. By the way, I also recently had his baby.”

“Sounds a bit silly when you put it like that. But how else are they going to know?” John asks.

“Let’s rent a blimp. Fly it over London.” Sherlock kisses his shoulder.

“Stop that. We’re not doing that.”

“We could hand out baby themed key chains.”

“No.” John laughs, “So what do you see?”

“Everything I never expected.”

***

**_John_ **

The moments when the equipment beeps trying to get a stable reading are the longest of John's life. He imagines his baby inside him.  _I can't help him. He's right there and I can't help him._ He squeezes Sherlock's hand. He imagines his little boy running about the flat. All dark curls and pretty eyes. Flouncing about with Sherlock's characteristic indifference.  _I need him. Is it possible to love someone you've never met?_

Then finally the beeping settles into a steady rhythm, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

“He’s healthy.” the doctor smiles, “I can hear him loud and clear now.”

_Oh yes. Oh…_

He looks to Sherlock, who says quietly, “It’s Christmas,” as he strokes his hand.

“Let me see.” John says, and she flips the monitor so it faces him.

The white lines are steadily moving up and down, and every beat of his baby’s heart calms him.  _You're alright. You're okay. You're safe inside me._

“Sherlock, look,” John laughs, “Look at that.”

“Extraordinary.”

“I’m so happy.” John says, sighing in relief, “I’m so happy I could dance.”  _I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you safe forever. I would do anything._

“I wouldn’t recommend that right now.” the doctor chuckles.

“Sherlock we did it. Sherlock.” John sees how the other man’s eyes are glued to the screen.  _He's just as in love as I am._

“No. You did it,” Sherlock turns away and kisses him full on the mouth, cupping John’s face with his left hand.

“Sherlock.” John blushes as they break away.

“It’s quite alright,” the doctor says.

“He’s incredible.” Sherlock says, looking at John as if he sees the entire world, “Have you ever met someone this incredible? I haven’t.”

She smiles, “It’s a wonderful thing.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Sherlock caresses his cheek, “He’s fantastic.”

***

**_Sherlock_ **

“John there’s something you should know.” Sherlock puts down the phone as they walk out of the hospital lobby together, telling Mrs. Hudson they'll be home soon and that they have good news. 

“I’ve never been this happy in my life, Sherlock. Take a picture or something. Or store it in your mind palace. I-I can’t. There’s nothing that could spoil my mood today. Nothing. He’s okay. Our son is okay. More than okay.” John beams at him.

“Your mother’s in our flat.” Sherlock says.

“What?”

“Your mother is inside our flat. I just spoke to Mrs. Hudson. She let her in.” Sherlock explains, putting a hand on John’s shoulder.

“Why would she do a thing like that for?” John hisses.

“Well it is the civilized thing to do, don’t you think?” Sherlock pats him gently.

“Sherlock. We have to move. Now.” John says defiantly.

“You can’t do plane travel when you’re this pregnant.” Sherlock shakes his head.

“We’ll drive then.”

“John,” Sherlock holds his mate’s face in his hands, “We actually must go home. There is nowhere else for us to go.”

“She just...she just wants to gloat...I can barely tolerate her when I’m--well in a normal situation and this is not normal, Sherlock. Not normal.”

“It’s perfectly normal, we’re bonded, you’re pregnant, this is what normal people do all the time, in fact for us it’s downright abnormal but only because we’re us,” Sherlock kisses him lightly on the lips, “Besides. Our baby’s healthy. If you were a few pounds lighter you would have been doing a little jig or something. And more likely than not she’s here because she’s thrilled she’s finally becoming a grandmother.”

“Right. Alright. I’m being unreasonable.” John paces on the sidewalk, “But we’re not telling her it was an accident.”

 _It still bothers him_.

“It bothers you that it was an accident.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes. It does.” Sherlock insists.

“I would always tell her I wasn’t like her. I wasn’t going to go find some alpha and have his babies or whatever sort of thing she was imagining. And it turns out I was wrong. I am like her. She told me one day I’d find someone I really fancied and I’d want him and I’d want him so badly that I’d forget all of my crazy ideas. She was right. I met you and I started to want, a little in the back of my mind all the time. I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m a stubborn person and I hate losing.”

“But you love the baby more. More than you dislike rejecting your previous mindset.” Sherlock adds.

“Of course I do. The second I realized that I was. You know. I loved it. I was going to have it with you or without you. No matter how much that would hurt.” John says as he sits in the cab and Sherlock relays their address.

“You were an accident.” Sherlock deduces suddenly.

“How--?”

“Your birthday and the anniversary of your parents’ bonding. The timing doesn’t exactly match up. She must have been pregnant first.”

“She was.”

“That was the only reason they ever bonded. He wasn’t in love with her.”

John doesn’t look at him when he answers this one, “He wasn’t. They barely knew each other.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter, Sherlock. We’re in love. I can feel it. I just don’t fancy her being right. Being just like her. Don’t get me wrong. I love her. I do. But she gave up everything. She was going to get another degree. She was going to do so many things but she couldn’t. He didn’t want her to. You don’t understand it Sherlock, but I feel a biological need to listen to you. You’re my alpha. If you ask me to I’ll do anything.”

“Then calm down.” Sherlock says firmly, “We’re not going to become them. That’s a ridiculous idea. And I will simply not allow it.”

“Sherlock I don’t want our baby to know he wasn’t planned...I don’t want him to feel like we didn’t completely want him. That he just sort of happened and we went with it. Because I love him so much...and because I know what that’s like.”

“Logical fallacy.”

“How so?”

“You’re implying that because he wasn’t planned he’ll feel like he wasn’t completely wanted. If we never give him cause to even think that it shouldn’t bother him at all.”

“If there ever should be another one. You wouldn’t see them any different? You can’t Sherlock.”

 _Another baby?_ “I promise John. It makes no difference.”

"You know something Sherlock?" John's eyes are slightly watery now.

"Mmm?"

John leans his head against Sherlock's shoulder and smiles, "I can finally let myself start thinking about names."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically a chapter or two left till the baby is born. Unless you guys have anything else you're dying to see happen in the meantime.


	23. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John prepare for the baby in the few weeks they have left.

**_John_ **

His mum’s visit had gone rather well. So well in fact that John was actually considering having her over again. Sherlock had done his best not to be his usual self, and all things considered John was glad for the effort. She had positively loved him. Even going so far as to say that he would have such polite, well-dressed babies from this man and though John had nearly coughed up his tea at the word polite he had nodded in agreement. Sherlock’s and his baby would be quite something.

In the interim period when thinking about it made him feel a tight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he hadn’t let himself imagine him too much. But now the boy is all he can think about. This lovely, gorgeous, possibly genius boy that he will bring into the world. There is so much to do to prepare for him. So much to do and now it feels like there is so little time.

The flat, John observes, is hardly a decent place to raise the baby as it is. It’s decided that John will continue sleeping with Sherlock in the bedroom on the lower floor. They’ll keep the crib by the bed. And then in a few years the boy can have his own room on the second floor. In the time when that room is vacant, John planning to move the rest of his stuff down to Sherlock’s bedroom, Sherlock can have free reign there to run his experiments.

The flat in general also has to be baby-proofed. John makes a list of prohibited items that he tacks to the fridge with a magnet and watches as these things slowly disappear. Sharp objects. Hidden stashes of chemicals. Human hair samples. Mysterious purple and green substances in plastic baggies that he doesn’t even want to know about.

Then of course there’s the matter of names. John has a list. Sherlock has a list. Both stuck on the fridge. And they keep adding to them day by day. Adding and scratching off names from the other’s. Sometimes adding comments.

 

**John’s List of Acceptable Names**

~~Sam~~

~~Eric~~

~~Mark~~

Richard

 ~~Mycroft~~ You just wrote that one to annoy me didn’t you?

 

**Sherlock’s List of Acceptable Names**

~~Newton~~ Really Sherlock?

~~Pascal~~

~~Alastair~~

Siger

Archimedes, you could make it “Archie” for short

 

Occasionally they argue about it. Sherlock has a hard time letting go of Alastair, which John insists sounds like some dusty old count in a Norwegian castle somewhere. But of course John can win any argument in the end when he mentions that as he’ll be birthing the child he’ll like the final say in the name. But John, to his utter chagrin, does end up picking his final choice from Sherlock’s list, and when they go to bed that night he does his very best to kiss the smug little grin off of his face and not turn around and smack him later when Sherlock is spooning him and telling him how their baby will thank him for having given him such a wonderful scientist/inventor/engineer of a namesake, nearly as “much a genius” as his alpha father.

 

At this comment John turns around and snaps that “Archie’s father will have it coming if he goes on like that.”

Sherlock just laughs, “You’re not nearly as threatening in pumpkin form.”

“I could still call him Mycroft you know.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” John says, inching closer.

“I think I will,” Sherlock says, leaning in and kissing him.

Suddenly the mood is totally changed. Sherlock presses his tongue into John’s mouth as John locks his hands in Sherlock’s hair.

“What are you doing?” John asks breathlessly as he rolls over onto Sherlock on the bed, propping himself up over him.

“There’s no risk of our activities leading to anything,” Sherlock explains, “Pregnancy is the best form of birth control.”

 

“That’s one way to look at it,” John laughs as Sherlock reverses the position so he’s on top of John as they mess the sheets up in the kind of frenzied romp John remembers himself doing more as a teenager.

Sherlock kisses his face as he caresses the bump, which John is sure by now is some sort of alpha ownership complex, because Sherlock does it a lot. He kisses John’s neck, saving the bond bite for a last, lingering press of his lips that sends a tingle down John’s spine.

“We made a baby in this bed,” Sherlock observes as he impatiently yanks down John’s trousers and pants, “Remember?”

“It’s not like I can forget,” John says quietly.

John gasps as Sherlock prepares him with his fingers. _My alpha. Oh yes. That’s good that is._

“Is there always lube in the bedside drawer when I’m not in heat?” John asks.

“Obviously.” Sherlock says as he thrusts his cock in him and John moans.

_You’re a bad man, Sherlock Holmes._

A few minutes later when the bed is in even greater disarray than before and John’s body still feeling the warm ache of post knotting John isn’t sure what brought this on. They’re so knackered however, that they fall asleep rather quickly. John with a slight smile on his face as he thinks of his son _Archimedes Holmes_. Of all things.

 

**_Sherlock_ **

The IKEA day is by far the most fun. The cleaning is fairly mundane. John bans mosts substances Sherlock truly likes. He banishes the experiments to the upstairs bedroom and Sherlock reluctantly complies. _I’m taking orders from a pumpkin._

Going furniture shopping however, is an experience. Sherlock drives them down to the IKEA in Croydon and from the second they get out he’s fascinated by how much John really cares about this nursery concept. It’s a bad cliche that omegas like babies, and John hasn’t seemed to care much more for them than Sherlock does in the past, but over the past few days they’ve been back at Baker Street he’s shown glimpses into a biological mindset that even he can’t escape.

The baby clothes his mother brings over bring a small smile to his face, even as he’s looking to Sherlock and his mother, wondering what each thinks of the other. Mrs. Watson privately confides to him later that she’s beyond glad that he mated her son and the only thing he can think to say is that the pleasure “is most definitely, inarguably mine.”

As they walk around the labyrinth of a shop he watches John try to contain how much he likes small brightly colored displays intended for children. In another few weeks time John will look full to bursting but he’s pretty large now and Sherlock just wants to kiss him and tell him that it’s alright that he likes these things. Every so often John turns back to look at him and Sherlock knows the happiness on his face then is because he’s pleased that Sherlock would even come nursery shopping with him, a rather unsherlockian thing to be doing on a Saturday, when so many murders have occurred unsolved in the week before. But Sherlock wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. There is also to be considered the quiet thrill Sherlock feels when going out with John this way, officially a couple, and every so often when Sherlock touches him protectively or kisses his cheek or his nose John doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t seem to mind a bit. 

He’s taken it pretty much in stride, Sherlock thinks. Even the visit with Mycroft, which Sherlock was a bit antsy about, he handled better than he ever expected.

“You look well given your situation. Sherlock tells me you’ve been doing remarkably.” Mycroft had said stiffly.

“I’m having his baby...he had better say I’m remarkable.” John had brushed it off.

It had been different with Lestrade, when they saw each other again. It must be awkward, Sherlock thought, to have denied something so long and suddenly having gone all for it. But beyond asking when the baby was due and then showing him some details of a cold case, Lestrade acted like everything was like it had been before. He could see how that pleased John. _He’s a good man that Geoff._

John had seemed a bit dismayed at the number he thought Sherlock had played at Molly, who hadn’t actually seen John since it all happened. It was however, entirely accidental that she had been being overly friendly again and Sherlock had pulled John back in the lab, obviously pregnant and bonded, and totally shocked her.

Even now at IKEA when the store clerk politely asks when the baby’s due Sherlock glows a little with pleasure. Less so though when John asks him to assemble the white wooden monstrosity at home. He throws aside the directions pretty early on, thinking he can probably eyeball it from the diagram, and ends up constructing what looks like a prison pen before breaking it back up for the most part and letting John take a crack.

 When it grows hotter Sherlock brings the little floor fan in the room and watches rather guiltily as his omega sits on the floor and tries to decode the small print. As it gets warmer he watches as John’s shirt sticks to his skin and when he finally takes it off and he’s assembling the crib and handling tools shirtless, pumpkin shape and all, Sherlock doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything sexier.

“You look like you could give birth now,” Sherlock says from the bed.

“Yes. I should be resting. Not redoing the project my genius alpha screwed up,” John says, not unkindly.

“I hope our baby inherits your handyman skills.”

“It’s not the skill you lack. It’s the complete inability to follow directions.”

“You don’t need to follow directions to make things.”

“Yeah it’s thoughts like that led to this,” John lays a hand in his own stomach as he sits back down, “Only a little left now.”

“Are you going to miss being pregnant John?”

“I’m going to miss having something to hold over you that’s for sure.”

“You’ll always have something over me,” Sherlock touches the bond bite lightly and kisses him.

“God it’s hot.” John sighs, adding slyly, “Too hot for sex.”

“That’s not always what I want when I kiss you.” Sherlock protests.

“Tell you what. I’ll assemble the rest of this in the nude. And if you can keep your hands off of me until it’s finished I’ll be the one to spray paint it too. Otherwise you have to.”

“You’re on.”

  
Sherlock loses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a couple at IKEA that reminded me of Sherlock and John. Hence this chapter was born.


	24. The Birth Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all been waiting for. John has the baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...try not to think about anatomy too much because I haven't. Just warning you now. This has been a disclaimer. :)

**_John_ **

It’s night when it happens. John nudges Sherlock to wake him and says rather loudly, “I’m having a baby, Sherlock.”

“Course you are.” Sherlock says sleepily, not opening his eyes, “You’ve been pregnant god knows how long.”

“No...Sherlock...I’m having it now!” John snaps. _You wanker._

“Now? You’re due date’s in two weeks.” Sherlock sits upright and corrects him, looking him over worriedly.

“Tell that to your son!” John says testily.

“Right, okay. Just relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax!”

“I’ve been told it’s helpful to.”

“Have you ever had a baby?”

“John,” Sherlock kisses his forehead, “It will all be fine. Just come. I’ll phone the hospital. Tell them we’re coming. Though it’s highly unlikely you’re actually in labor.”

“Sherlock sod highly unlikely. I’m telling you your baby’s coming right now.”

This is the first false alarm.

The next morning as they both slink into the kitchen later than usual John looks at Sherlock sheepishly over the newspaper, “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sherlock says, “You’ve disturbed my sleep over less.”

“You’d think I’d really know if I was in labor.” John continues.

“Rookie mistake. I’m sure the next time you’ll be a pro.”

“The next time?” John raises an eyebrow.

“If there is a next time,” Sherlock says, “I rather like it when you’re pregnant.”

“Well as long as you’re enjoying yourself.” John huffs.

“What was it you said?” Sherlock chuckles, “I’m having it now, Sherlock. I’m having it now. Oh yes. I am enjoying myself.”

“Git.”

The second time it happens they've just gotten done with some mind-blowing sex and Sherlock, who hardly ever apologizes to people, finds himself explaining himself to several nurses why he's very sorry he's here again and it's the middle of the night and John is blushing furiously on the cab ride home. 

"It's alright. At least now all of the birthing ward knows what my sex hair looks like." Sherlock comments dryly.

"It's not funny." John protests.

"It's a little funny." Sherlock says pulling him to his side of the cab and throwing an arm around him.

"I hate you." John says as he laughs.

"We can't giggle in public.  We're going to be parents. Must set an example."

"I don't really hate you," John says, suddenly serious, "You know that don't you?"

"Considering that an hour ago you thought you were about to give birth to my child I think I do."

"You still think it's funny don't you?" John smiles and shakes his head.

"I'm serious this time, Sherlock. You said. I'm full to bursting."

"If I feel like that it's your fault for fucking me when I'm nine months pregnant."

"You thought you were having the baby." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Careful or I'll make you sleep on the sofa. Archie and I won't take any of this lying down."

"Just because he's in you doesn't mean he's on your side of the argument."

"Actually, Sherlock. It does." John leans into his touch.

"It's too bad neither of you can fall asleep without me."

"It's too bad," John agrees.

The third time it happens John is only a week from his due date and Sherlock has just managed to fall asleep due to the omega’s constant shifting in bed.

“Sherlock, I feel like I’m--”

“John. John we’re not doing this again.”

“Sherlock he moved in me. I can feel the rhythmic pressing. This must be it.”

This time though Sherlock recognizes it can’t be the real thing and fakes calling the hospital, much to John’s anger later, despite the fact that Sherlock was right.

“And what if you were wrong?” John asks the next morning after the crisis has passed.

“I’m right.”

“Sherlock.”

“I did not want us accused of the pregnancy equivalent of crying wolf. Only a week more. You can do it.”

“I just want to have this baby Sherlock.” John sighs.

“You will John,” he says, “You will.”

But he doesn’t. _Damn it even his babies come late._

The due date comes and goes. John’s still pregnant and more pumpkin shaped than ever. He doesn’t go practically anywhere now that he’s this great with child and it’s driving him crazy. He paces around the flat until he’s too tired to. At night Sherlock holds him and in the evenings he plays him the violin and during the daytime he basically waits on his every need like some sort of fairytale prince until John finds himself unable to chastise him for putting him in such a state.

“Why won’t it come out?” he asks one night.

“Just a bit longer,” Sherlock plants a kiss in his hair.

“I don’t even remember what it was like not to be pregnant.” John says.

“I’m positive that’s not true.”

“Maybe we should go out on a case.”

“When you look like you’re about ready to pop? Not a chance.”

“Please?”

“John.”

“Sherlock, I’m fat and useless and bored.”

“You’re beautiful, and carrying our child, and yes, probably bored.” Sherlock nuzzles in closer.

“A small case? If I haven’t had it already what are the chances I’ll have it then?”

At 11:03 AM, as they’re picking up the details of a bank robbery, John realizes he’s about to have a baby for real.

**_Sherlock_ **

“Sherlock,” John taps him on the back as he’s gesturing wildly to Lestrade about how obvious it all is.

“A moment John,” Sherlock doesn’t turn around.

“Sherlock!” John says a bit more sharply.

Sherlock turns around. Looks at the way John is moving. Perspiring slightly. It’s time. _Oh my god it’s time. And we’re not even at home. We have none of the things. What? Why? Damn it all._

“Impeccable timing,” Sherlock murmurs, then looks at Lestrade, “Could you do me a favor?”

“What do you need?” Lestrade asks.

“Break into my flat and get the canvas bag marked ‘delivery things’ and bring it to the hospital. And I’ll need your police car to take John to the hospital.”

“My police car?”

“Yes. Siren will clear the traffic.”

“Sherlock, that’s not exactly lega--”

“Gary, give me your keys or I’m never solving a case for you again.”

Greg makes a face, but tosses him his keys, “Get in an accident and I’ll skin you. Anderson, break into his flat. And it’s Greg.”

“Why me?” Anderson snaps.

“You were more than keen last time.” Greg points out.

“Sherlock,” John says a bit anxiously, his nails digging into Sherlock’s arm.

“It’ll be alright my love,” Sherlock kisses his cheek gently, to the great shock of all others assembled. _They didn't think I could be this tender. Not even for the man who's having my child._

“Alright my foot. Your son. Is so impatient.” John pants and clings to Sherlock.

“He’s probably bored or something. Not many serial murders to observe in the womb.” Anderson comments.

Sherlock glares.

“Alright. Alright. I’m going to your flat.” Anderson sighs.

The siren idea was brilliant, Sherlock thinks to himself as he drives. If John was in a fit state to say so he’d probably say it was brilliant too. As it is, John is a bit preoccupied with making sure the baby stays securely inside him until he’s safely in a hospital bed. _Admirable effort really._

“Sherlock,” John says.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get me pregnant again I will kill you.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that John.”

“I was a soldier. I could you know.” John breathes hard on the passenger side.

“I believe you.” Sherlock tries to say in a genial yet comforting tone.

“Easy on the breaks will you!”

“Sorry. I realized if any actual police stop us for violating traffic we have nothing to prove that we’re actually police.” Sherlock mutters, “Deep breaths. Breathing is key.”

“Just remain calm. Agitation helps nothing,” Sherlock goes on, “As long as you remain serene. Passive. Still. Don’t concentrate on it. Just think of something else. Things you like. Jam. Tea. Me.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Sorry.”

Sherlock is almost relieved when they pull up to the hospital and takes John by the hand up to the front desk.

He sounds totally stupid while saying it, he should have looked up what to say, “John’s having a baby.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the green-eyed girl says kindly.

“Could have phrased that better. He’s not expecting. He’s actually going to have one any second.”

“Oh!” she gets up suddenly to get a better look at him, and he reads the name ‘Nancy’ off of her nametag, twenty-three, married, professional nurse, one child herself, “You came in the wrong entrance for that. But I can take care of you just wait.”

 _Not as incompetent as I first assumed. But still a bit slow._ Sherlock notes as she puts John in a chair and wheels him away and he follows, wondering whether he’s supposed to be following. He can smell the hormones as soon as they get into the birthing ward. All these agitated alphas and panicky omegas and new scents, young scents, babies. It’s quite the sensation.

“The doctor will be in to see you any minute.” Nancy says as she darts back outside the room she settles them in, drawing the curtain.

“Still angry at me?,” Sherlock says as he squeezes John’s hand.

“I’m always angry at you.” John says, giving him a small smile, “Wrong entrance. Can’t believe you. We even rehearsed twice."

A few minutes later when John’s in his hospital gown and the doctor’s come and gone and checked his vitals and told him everything’s going well Sherlock looks at John and registers a shock at the fact that he of all people is going to be a father. _Who would have thought?_

“You’re not worried are you?” John says.

“Don’t worry about me. Not now. You have too much to worry about.” Sherlock says gently.

John cries out.

“What was that? What’s happening? Are you alright? Is something the matter? What’s wrong?”

“It’s normal. He’s dilating.” Doctor Lasky pokes her head in at the racket and pops back out.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says.

“Hmmm?” John says, the strain showing on his face.

“For loving me so much you could produce a human being that shares half my DNA. Hardly expected it.” Sherlock strokes John’s hair.

John can only say “Yes.”

It’s only later that he gets really talkative.

“Almost there John, just push a little bit more,” Dr. Lasky says, to which John nods fervently.

_He’s sweating. This is highly strenuous._

“A little more, love. I’m reasonably sure you’re over the worst of it.” Sherlock says, to which John replies, “Shut up, Sherlock.”

 _John is really vocal when giving birth_. Sherlock thinks as he pushes back John’s hair from his forehead amidst cries of “Damn it”, “Damn you Sherlock”, “Oh fucking god”, and “I’m dying Sherlock”.

_Can’t blame him. Not when he’s in more pain than I can imagine and all because he’s pushing out my child. The child he carried and fed for nine long months. No, I can never blame him for anything._

“I love you,” Sherlock says quietly, and it’s the first time he’s ever said it.

This catches John’s attention. _We waited so long to get here._ He remembers before. The stolen glances. The lingering looks. He remembers the heat. He remembers deducing John was pregnant and not knowing what to think. He remembers sleeping with him and then loving him and he remembers the long struggle when he didn't think their little miracle would make it. He remembers the ice cream. He remembers the dinner dates. He remembers how they're still best friends despite throwing in a pregnancy and what's a baby when two blokes are madly in love with each other?  _I'm in love with him. I'm so in love with him._ _I'm so in love with our child._ John looks at him with that steely resolve he loves. Just as sure now as it was when he shot a man to save him. It’s remarkable. And it’s freeing.


	25. The Birth Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock bring Archie home.

**_John_ **

“I see the head!” Dr. Lasky said.

“Did you hear that John? She sees the head. Fascinating that is. Are you getting this John?” Sherlock babbles excitedly.

_Fucking hell. Of course I’m getting it. It’s happening inside me._

“I can’t--I can’t--” he tries to say.

“Deep breaths John,” Lasky says kindly, “You can and will do this.”

“I agree comple--” Sherlock starts to say.

“Fuck you, Sherlock. Fu--” John starts to say. _I’m really going to have to learn to temper my language once Archie’s old enough to imitate._

Sherlock squeezes his hand, “I’m right here with you.”

John squeezes back so hard Sherlock’s hand turns white from his knuckles to his wrists. _This is an unholy amount of pain._ He doesn’t really know what he’s doing as he reaches for Sherlock and pulls the other man’s face into the crook of his neck. Just breathing in his scent as his muscles burn in flashes of white hot fury. _Oh god why. Sherlock._

He sort of forgets that Sherlock has sensitive hair follicles as he clutches at his curls as he pushes, tangling himself with his alpha in a strange half-embrace that Dr. Lasky doesn’t seem to find at all surprising.

“Just a bit more John,” Sherlock says into his ear, “Isn’t it interesting that we also met in a hospital?”

 _Afghanistan or Iraq?_ John remembers. Too tired to laugh. He’s sweating so much. His hair is sticking up in all different directions. And Sherlock is still looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing to ever exist.

One last push is all it takes. One last and it’s over. Sherlock pulls away from him gently, placing a kiss on his temple. His hair and clothes disheveled, probably smelling of John’s sweat.

He pants as he watches Dr. Lasky take his crying son and clean him off, wrap him in a blanket and hand him to Sherlock, who’s staring at the little body with a combination of alarm, adoration and awe.

“There you are, Archie,” Sherlock says in a soft voice even John didn’t know existed as the child fusses and wails.

The world is still swimming in John’s eyes. Every part of him aches. Parts of him he’s never even felt before are burning. It’s like he’s just run a marathon through a pool of molasses. _Sweet hell._

“I want--” John says a bit blearily.

Sherlock understands and hands him the warm blue bundle.

The face is so red. He can’t tell who the boy’s going to look like exactly by his face. He’s so small and compact. His hands balled up into fists. Blue-grey. _My eyes. Not Sherlock’s._ The hair though is dark and brown but there’s only a scattering of it and he can’t tell whether it’ll be soft and straight like his or untamable and curly. _He’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful._

“You’re awfully small for name like Archimedes,” John says, rocking his son, who calms a bit in his arms.

“He’s perfect,” his long suffering alpha says.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Dr. Lasky smiles as she leaves.

John’s pulse is slowly coming back to normal. According to the monitors anyway.

“Sorry about, you know, towards the end there--”

Sherlock shakes his head, readjusting his hair with his hands, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want to hold him?” John asks to be polite, but really wants to keep the baby in his own arms, probably forever.

“I think you should have him for a bit.” Sherlock says gently. _Hoping you’d say that._

They sit together like that for a bit. Sherlock on a stool next to the bed watching his little family.

“What?” John asks finally.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” Sherlock says, and in his sleepy, exhausted state John swears Sherlock's eyes are just the slightest bit wet with tears.

**_Sherlock_ **

The ride home is the only quiet moment they have for the next few days. Archie miraculously manages to fall asleep and by the time they arrive at Baker Street wakes up and shrieks so that Sherlock is sure everyone in a five kilometer radius knows there’s a new baby at Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson fusses so much it’s embarrassing. Mycroft texts a curt but genuine congratulations.

And then suddenly, they’re alone again. Except their not. The thirty minutes John’s in the shower are the longest of Sherlock’s life. No matter what he does the baby just won’t stop crying. Then suddenly when John comes back out, all cuddly and soft in his red sweater, the baby quiets a moment only to start crying again a minute later.

“He’s hungry,” John explains.

“Well I sort of need you for that.” Sherlock points out, and as Archie suckles at John’s chest he feels so exhausted he wonders if it’s possible for him to sleep standing up.

In two weeks time they’ve settled into a nice routine. Archie sleeps in between them on the bed at night and Sherlock often wakes up to the sight of John feeding him. The first few times it happens he stays to watch, memorizing the image. The sunlight filtering in and illuminating the matching eyes of his mate and son. The way John’s loose skin and stretch marks and the baby in his hands remind him of their nine month journey together. _I never thought I’d have something like this_. Eventually though it strikes him he can make himself more useful by making breakfast for him and John. As John probably wants something to eat after Archie’s all done and satisfied. They have tea and read the paper in the kitchen as Archie’s asleep in their room, he often sleeps after feedings, and talk about what they have planned for the day.

Initially they decide that John, as the omega, possessing as Sherlock once called it--to John’s great amusement--the appropriate “nutritionary equipment” should stay with the baby more often than not. So Sherlock goes out and gets things. Grocery. Case files when he can manage them. To compensate though, he decides to perform roughly 60% of the “waste management activities” as he calls it--also to John’s great amusement--and give John a much needed break.

In the first week or two Archie sleeps a lot. Hours and hours at a time. John as well. He’s exhausted, Sherlock knows, and it’s oftentimes such a blessing to just watch him. The first night they put Archie in the crib and spin the mobile for him he opens the drawer to show him the pregnancy test he had saved.

“All this time?” John turns it over in his hand.

Sherlock nods.

That night is the first time they make love since the baby was born. And they both should regret the loss of sleep since Archie wakes them up at 3 AM and then again at 5 AM, but it’s necessary, to celebrate what brought them here. When Sherlock kisses him he can’t help but remember how desperately the other man had pulled on his hair in the hospital and he feels a surge of joy as he realizes this is something he alone shares with John. _Mine. Mine. Mine_. He thinks as he kisses his face repeatedly. His eyelids and his nose. He wonders when he got so damn sentimental about it all. But he doesn’t care. 

“You’ve given me everything I could ever want.” he confesses.

John doesn’t hesitate to reply, “I was only ever yours for the taking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for following this story. If you've read any of my other works, you'll know I sometimes publish an epilogue later when I think of one that fits just right but other than that this story is finished!  
> 


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